


War is Never Cheap Here

by Cherith, Serindrana



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Politics, War Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-22
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 15:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 97,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherith/pseuds/Cherith, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serindrana/pseuds/Serindrana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bann Teagan has been corresponding on and off with the Lady Cousland for the past eight months; Queen Anora sends her watchdog, the dreaded Ser Cauthrien, to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Warning: Problem drinking  
> Chapter Rating: T

A horse and rider like the one that moved through Rainesfere now did not cover so much ground without Bann Teagan getting word. He had received word of the rider more than an hour ago.

She hadn't been to Rainesfere since the civil war.

He knew that as she rode, she passed through fields that were again showing signs of green, not the brown and black char her torches had left. Though his bannorn had been left largely untouched, compared those east of Lake Calenhad, and closer to Denerim, as she rode she would still pass fields she had destroyed and villages she had burned.

The war had ended too soon for her to take Rainesfere, but the signs were still there.

She rode alone. He knew she could have ridden alongside others. She had chosen not to.

There had been rumors that she held a death wish, ever since Loghain Mac Tir had become a Grey Warden and died slaying the Archdemon. Yet, she moved through the country freely despite the enemies she had made, the hatred borne against her by so much of the Bannorn, and when things drew towards battle, she did not turn away. Now, she rode for Rainesfere.

What Bann Teagan didn’t know was why, and while he waited for the rider to reach the gates, he paced.

Word came that she rode through the central town without pause, the roads clearing at her coming, at her imposing horse, her gleaming armor, her greatsword strapped to the animal's flank. She wore a grand helm, a heavy thing with wings reminiscent of the wyvern's on the Gwaren teyrnship's crest.

When she came before his walls, her horse stamping and snorting, she called, voice clear, cold, and loud, "I am here on the orders of Her Majesty, Queen Anora Mac Tir, sole sovereign of Ferelden."

There was no mistaking that voice as it came over the gates. He heard it in his sleep- heard it as he had nightmares of the war, nightmares he knew he shared with the people of the Bannorn. Nightmares that it might happen again, while they still struggled to put their lives back together after the Blight.

So. Queen Anora had sent Ser Cauthrien to check on him.

He waved a hand as signal to let her through the gates. He decided against meeting her at the door, leaving only a squire to greet her. Instead, he went back to his desk, tugged at the sleeves to his shirt and leaned back in his chair. She could meet him here, with a desk between them.

He would not stand for her.

**\--**

There was a knock at the door of his study; she was there, just behind it, and he let her wait a moment more.

On his desk was correspondence to the Wardens, half-finished. There was another letter, more personal, to the Warden-Commander at Amaranthine. She was more than that to him- she was a link to his nephew, Alistair. And also, he thought, a friend to him. To Alistair as well, if he hadn’t been so-

Well, Teagan might not have agreed with the way Alistair left but he knew that his nephew had reason enough to do so. He didn’t think he could have joined with Loghain either. Not after the attacks Loghain had ordered on the Bannorn.

Teagan thought it a pity that Alistair wouldn’t be convinced to return to the Grey Wardens or even to be found long enough for anyone to try and convince him, even now with Loghain gone. Loghain had saved them in the end, from the Archdemon, the Blight, even if there hadn’t been much a choice. That, at least, was the story the Warden-Commander told. He believed her. He had no reason not to.

While he made Ser Cauthrien wait, he stored the missives he was in the middle of writing in a drawer and hoped that no one had need to look at them. He had no plans of giving anyone, hand of the Queen or not, a look at his letters to the Warden-Commander. It wasn’t that they were involved, but they were friendly- and he knew how that might look to anyone given half the chance.

He knew the knight would be angry at his delay, at being met by a squire, and so it was with a sense of resignation that he called out for the servant to open the door.

And there she was, jaw clenched and lips pressed to a fine line, holding a rolled up parchment in her fist. She entered at something approaching a stalk, her eyes fixed unmoving on him.

"Bann Teagan," she said, bowing only shallowly as she removed her helm and tucked it in the crook of her arm.

"Ser Cauthrien." He fixed her with an almost amused expression, feeling a little better with the letters put away and having made her wait.

He knew he was pushing his limits. It didn’t matter who she reported to now, what she had done- he expected no apology, he knew well the price of war. But, he would not- _could_ not act as though everything was fine and that he was happy to meet her, to have her in his home.

He remained seated and only leaned forward, tugging again at his sleeves as though he was settling into his desk. His hands clasped in front of him once he was comfortable.

"To what do I owe this... visit?" he asked through nearly clenched teeth. The smile on his lips remained, though it was strained.

She didn't flinch or even frown at how he responded to her. Still, he was sure it was filed away, with so many other notes; he would not and could not hide his personal distaste for her even when she came in official office.

Ser Cauthrien crossed to his desk and held out the parchment to him. "I'm under orders from Her Highness, Queen Anora, to take up residence here for the next month."

With no small amount of distrust, he reached out and took the parchment from her. Unrolled it, let her stand there while he read it. It was true-

 _Politics._

He let the orders fall to his desk, slipping through his fingers slowly so the it curled back up before landing. With a sigh he leaned back into his chair and looked Cauthrien over. Her helm, cloak, armor- if he didn’t know better he would think she was still prepared for war. The thought scared him, but he pushed it away. There wouldn’t be war here- his people didn’t need that.

After another breath, he let his gaze flick back to hers. He lowered his hands into his lap, elbows resting on the arms of his chair.

"Any particular reason?" His gaze was level, his tone strong but bordering on spiteful at the very edges. He assumed she would pick up on it. "Or did you just miss Rainesfere?"

She tilted her head at that. "No, I did not," she said, calmly. "Though it looks to be recovering well. I'm glad."

His jaw twitched. _She was glad._

She shifted her weight, her armor creaking as she moved. "As to why I'm here, the Queen does not entirely trust the nature of your correspondence with the Warden-Commander, and has sent me to ensure that you are not... plotting."

He thought a moment about the letters in his desk, his correspondence with the Grey Wardens, not just the Warden-Commander. Of course, anything he had written that could have been read, or intercepted- those were safe words . Those were meant to be read by anyone that wanted to read them. Innocently, they were letters where he was only inquiring after his nephew- nothing more.

Reminding himself that he would need to lock his desk later, he wondered what else the Queen had Ser Cauthrien looking for, watching for, if she was willing to speak so freely of her purpose.

He wasn’t sure he had it in him to put on a show.

"I see. Well, that’s... disappointing."

He had supported the Warden-Commander’s decision to put Anora on the throne, and though he didn’t agree with what her father had done- they had had little choice. For now, she was what Ferelden needed to help it put itself back together. Her choice in help, however, was... questionable. And this inquiry- He wondered if Anora truly thought so little of him?

If Anora did think so little, he would be pleasant, noble. He would welcome Ser Cauthrien, just to prove that he could. Perhaps, he thought, he might even try to be pleasant. He pushed his chair back and stood. Walking to where she stood he offered the tall woman a hand.

"Then, welcome." _Back._

Cauthrien eyed his hand curiously, shoulders visibly tense even beneath all her armor. There was a moment of hesitation- and then she pulled her gauntlet off before taking his hand, her grip firm but not crushing. "I am not, for your peace of mind, under any orders to take action while I'm here. I'm only to observe."

With a nod, he shook her hand, but was glad to be free of it a moment later. He understood orders, understood what they might have meant when she had ridden through the Bannorn at Loghain’s command. Understanding politics was not going to help him feel better about what happened or about who carried out those orders, but it was a start.

Still, he forced out a steady, "Thank you" in return for the additional information about her presence. He didn’t have to believe her, but she hadn’t needed to say it either. It seemed some manners remained.

Her hand falling back to her side, Cauthrien glanced to the window in his study. "... For what it is worth, the order that brought me here last was not easily made," she said, her voice oddly strained. And then she looked back to him, expression bland, fixed.

His jaw clenched and he turned to look where her gaze had gone to the window. With a sigh he said, "We’re recovering. _Slowly_ , but recovering."

"And I am glad to hear it," she said, echoing her earlier sentiment. "If you would direct me to where I am to be quartered, I will leave you to your work, Bann Teagan." She sketched him another slight bow.

He turned away and took a few steps passed her, putting his back to her. If she was going to strike him down, she would have done so already, though that moment of vulnerability did make him want to squirm. Over his shoulder he said, "If you’ll follow me, then?"

He took her up the stairs and led her to one of the only guest chambers still ready for use. It wasn’t elaborately decorated since he hadn’t needed room for guests in some time. Since before the Blight... and the war before that. To long to remember.

"You can stay here. If you need me, you know where to find my study," he said as he gestured for her to enter.

And with a shallow bow of dismissal, he turned to leave.

**\--**

She let him go.

Met at the gate by a squire, but led to a guest room - not even the barracks - by the bann himself? She didn't know what to make of Teagan Guerrin, and she busied herself once he left by shedding her armor, retrieving her pack, seeing that her horse was well-stabled. She sat in her room, once those jobs were done, and polished her armor. It was meditative. It helped her think without letting her think too much.

Anora would have-

Anora would have not so much has taken her hand, and they had, in some ways, grown up together.

And yet Bann Teagan had led her up here, even after she had burned his fields to ash, after she had declared her intent and the Queen's ill-trust. She had no military post that accorded her respect these days, merely the good will and direct orders of the Queen. He had no reason to play the gracious host. In fact, he had every reason not to.

It did not sit well with her.

When it came time for the evening meal, she didn't think to go to the main dining hall; she went down to the kitchens and ate there, quiet, head bowed, wearing her arming jacket and trousers and none of her gleaming armor.

It had been hard, these last eight months, in the wake of Loghain's death, in the wake of the failure of the civil war, even if Anora ended up on the throne still. She had begun to doubt her lord in the last months of the civil war, it was true, and she had allowed the Lady Cousland to talk her sword down. But she could not forgive herself for abandoning him. She could not forgive herself for allowing him to take the Joining alone, though it was Riordan that had turned her away. She could not forgive herself for not being there to strike the final blow in his stead.

She had sworn, in the quiet dark of the regent's chambers, that she would protect him with her life.

She had failed.

Anora's rule was uneasy, her leash tight, but Cauthrien could see no better place for herself, no better place for atonement. She would be Anora's sword and would, as she had tried to do for Loghain, take all the blame in the world for her, all the hatred. And when she eventually was felled, it would reflect only well on her Queen.

Maker, but when had it come to this?

All she had ever wanted was to serve.

Well, she would serve, take Anora's paranoia as her own. And there was weight to it - all sources pointed to Teagan attempting to court the Lady Cousland. While Wardens were not allowed to hold rank, Anora had already given the woman an Arling, even if it was a non-traditional one. It was easy enough to imagine Teagan and Cousland marrying, forming an alliance that Cauthrien knew that all the Bannorn would unite behind. And then what? Bring back Alistair, of course- set him on the throne finally, without the point of contention of Loghain. Eamon would have his puppet, Anora would be forced out.

The Lady Cousland had supported Anora, true. And Teagan, at least, had fallen in line. But it had been expedient, in order to gain Loghain's loyalty and to sacrifice him - the best political move to get rid of the man. Alistair's fleeing the country had been unintentional, from every statement Cousland had made that Anora had relayed to her, but it was fixable. The man wasn't dead - they had stopped Anora from having him executed.

Which left Anora dependent on the good will of the Warden-Commander- and the Lady Cousland was a noblewoman, politician. Anora was wise not to trust the situation.

Cauthrien was likely less wise to drink as much as she had, sitting at the low table in her enemy's the kitchen, but politics made her head ache and, at least at the moment, ale helped with that. Four tankards was, however, maybe a bit much for a woman who had only picked up the habit after Loghain's death, and she was currently nursing a fifth while poking at the braised ox tail half-eaten in front of her.

She took another long swallow from her tankard, then scowled down at her uneaten dinner. It wasn't that it tasted bad. She just couldn't find an appetite. That was happening more and more often these days - her body rebelling against her. Sleep was tricky at times, too. She didn't look forward to that night.

"If you’re going to drink my supply of ale, in my kitchen, I should at least get to enjoy some of it with you," came Bann Teagan's voice, and she looked up, startled, with a glare.

What in Andraste's name was _he_ doing here? She hadn't heard him step in, hadn't heard him approach, and she bristled at her own vulnerability. He even had the damnable nerve to look as if he was in a pleasant mood. Was he gloating over her rather pathetic state of mooning into her drink?

And if so, why wasn't he simply watching from the door, laughing?

He poured himself a tankard and took a seat across from her at the table.

"I," she said, eyeing him warily and trying to pick her words carefully, "did not disturb you during dinner. Why are you disturbing mine?"

"In fact," he said after a long drink, "I'm here because you did not come to dinner." He looked her over, perhaps a bit curious, perhaps a bit amused. "I’ll admit, I didn’t not expect to find you dining in the kitchen, however."

She made a sound- maybe a laugh? Even she wasn't sure. "Where else would I eat?"

The answer, she supposed, was wherever his knights ate. Or, barring that, wherever his guard ate. She occasionally had private dinners with the Queen, had had private meals with Loghain, but- they were rare. By invitation only. He just watched her with a quirked brow, however, and offered no solution.

She rubbed her fingers against her temples, scowling. Why was he there? He wasn't outwardly mocking her yet, and she was left with the conclusion that he was trying to discern his opponent. It was what she would have done, certainly, what Loghain would have done.

Well.

She didn't feel like being discerned against her will.

"If you were waiting for me to bother you," she muttered, looking up to him again, "on official orders, here-"

She hesitated, faltered. There was only one question she knew she was supposed to find the answer to, but it stuck in her throat.

She took another drink to dislodge it.

"Are you, or are you planning on, fucking the Warden-Commander? Queen demands to know."

There. Perhaps the question would even scare him off. She finished her tankard and considered if it would be a good idea to have another one. Or, barring that, if she wanted another one anyway.

"Well." He quirked an eyebrow and pursed his lips, once he'd stopped gaping open-mouthed at her. "That’s direct." He glanced at her tankard. "Have I? No." He chuckled. "Am I planning to?" He took another drink and laughed fully this time.

 _Laughed._

Why in the Void was he in such a good mood? He'd been courteous but bitter that afternoon. Had _he_ been drinking?

If he had, why did he get to be happy when drunk?

He didn't seem drunk.

When he caught his breath and resettled, he looked at her directly, waited for her to make sure she saw his eyes. "The better question would’ve been, if I wanted to. But, planning to? No."

Right. This had to go in the report.

Her fingers played along the mug in her hand, and she found herself distracted by the cool ceramic. By the way he laughed. By the way-

That didn't matter. What mattered was, his statement was that he wasn't and didn't plan on sleeping with the Lady Cousland. Not that he didn't want to- she could still understand that much of his comment. She was not that far gone.

"Right," she said, considering for a moment asking him if a sixth tankard would be a good idea. Her fingers stopped trailing along the handle, shifting to run her index finger along the lip of the mug. "... Work done for the night, then. Right?"

Another little frown pursed her lips. _Just go away_. She slumped in her seat on the bench.

"It is," he said matter-of-factly. "I’ve no where else to be for the night." His eyes followed her fingers on the tankard, and then he rose to his feet, looking down to her. "Another drink then? If neither of us have more pressing business?"

Well.

If he didn't think a sixth one would hurt-

"Another drink," she said, her frown disappearing for a moment, replaced by a grim smile. "Are you always this good to war criminals who forcibly move in?"

She pointedly did not say war heroes.

Some called her that. Anora referred to her as that. At the very least, most did not say _criminal_ aloud. She did. There was no reason to shy from the truth, after all.

But the man across from her didn't seem to notice or respond. No, he would agree with her assessment. "No, I'm not. Not that I get much cause to host them. Forcibly or not," he answered.

She pushed her tankard over to him, then picked up her fork to push her dinner around her plate. She really should eat more. But she wanted to stay well and truly drunk, and an ox tail in her belly wouldn't help with that.

 _Eat_ , her mind told her, taking on Loghain's voice like it did whenever her subconscious needed her to shape up. She took a bite and watched as he poured them both another round.

He sat down as he handed her back her drink, closer this time, and watched her pick at her food.

"I imagine we’ll just have to make the most of our month together," he said.

She lifted the tankard and quickly took a swallow. But then she set it down, and tried to focus on her food. Not on the alcohol, not on Teagan, and Maker, not on the voice of Loghain echoing in her head.

"I'll stay out of your way when I can," she mumbled, then took another bite of ox tail.

Chewed. Swallowed. There were things that needed to be said, outlined directly. Her purpose there, she would not hide that, nor her displeasure of being there at all, assigned to a task that did not suit her. And then there were the fields. She had ridden through them and some part of her heart, the part that was a farmer's little girl's, had ached.

"I didn't want to burn the damn fields. Or the villages." She didn't look at him when she said it, just went back to playing her fingers along her mug. She watched them, instead. Up and down the handle, around the rim, over some of the decorations on the side. She groaned and closed her eyes, rested her forehead against her hand, elbow propped on the table. "Fucking-"

"Would you rather I was mean to you? I think I had enough of that this afternoon." There wasn’t a playfulness to his voice anymore, just wonder- concern?

He took a drink and she wanted desperately to mirror his actions.

"I-" She growled, trying to think straight. Maybe the sixth drink- no, that had been a wonderful idea, courtesy of the man sitting right across from her. "At least I'd understand you," she finally mumbled, forcing herself to take another bite of her dinner. That still left it less than half finished, but she let her fork drop down and pushed the plate away from her. She massaged at the bridge of her nose, then let go of her tankard. She rested both elbows on the table and stared down at her hands.

People weren't supposed to see her like this. Why in the Blighted Void did _he_ have to come here? He was her job. Finding out how he was going to betray Ferelden-

He interrupted her thoughts, waving a hand dismissively. "What’s to understand? Your- _Our_ Queen sent you, intending to make me upset. But it won't be because I’m being investigated. By all means, investigate."

He shook his head and took another drink. "I don’t have to pretend I’m happy about it, when I’m not. But, I will act like a nobleman should and treat a hand of the Queen, and a guest in my house, with some courtesy."

A very small smile touched his lips. She hated it.

"Are you determined," she asked, frowning and gesturing to him, "to be as not upset as possible in order to- to slight Anora? ... I should report that."

He looked over at her and, after a moment's consideration, nodded. "You know, I think I am. And that you should report it. I’m half-curious to see what she’ll do about it."

She eyed her tankard, then his. He'd still had less than she had. Though, she supposed, it would take some effort to catch up.

"I'll report that. Along," Cauthrien added, thoughtfully, peering at him, "with your otherwise good behavior. Or- something. I don't know. I'll figure it out when I write it. After I investigate. In the morning."

Maybe. If she could figure out what she was supposed to investigate - she was no spy, after all. And if she could stop babbling. Maker, where were all these words _coming_ from? These little moments of weakness, of _I don't know what I'm doing, enemy._

He didn't comment, however - only finished off what remained in his tankard and stood to get a third.

When he sat back down he leaned in over the table, as if they were friends, talking more conspiratorially than hostile. And he was smiling again, a little testing thing. "Are you allowed to tell me what exactly you’ll be looking for? Other than my supposed sexual relationship with the Warden-Commander?"

Cauthrien blinked at him, owlishly.

"She didn't say I wasn't," she said after a moment. "She also- didn't really tell me what to look for."

She bit her lower lip at the confession, then pulled away to take a long draw from her tankard.

"She doesn't trust you, though. So I don't, either. Thinks that you and the Warden-Commander are going to-"

... _Should_ she be telling him this? She'd already all but laid herself bare before him. The knife, it would come no matter what.

Teagan tapped the table to get her attention. "Get married, have little noble babies, and throw her from her _hard-earned_ throne?" He made no attempt to hide the distaste in voice, shaking his head. "We’re planning nothing of the sort," he then added, a little more softly. "Sorry to be a disappointment to the crown. I guess she’ll have find something else wrong with me."

Cauthrien shifted enough that she could lean her entire upper body on the table, chin resting on her folded arms, giving up any pretense of strength. "She thinks you're going to bring the royal bastard back, now that-"

 _Loghain._

"... now that there is nothing he will object to," she finished, quietly. "And that if you _were_ planning on marrying the Warden-Commander - or, I guess, if she'd let you marry her?" Yes, that seemed about right from what he'd been saying. She walked her fingers idly along the table. "And if you were planning that, that the Bannorn would gladly burn us alive for you.

"And so, I'm here, Bann Disappointment."

It wasn't true sarcasm - just exhausted confusion, a little bitterness, a little distrust. She frowned and settled deeper into her seat. "So I'm looking for that, I guess. Your plans for having our heads on pikes. If you have any, I'd be greatly obliged to you if you showed me where they are. In the morning."

She watched him blearily as he began to laugh again, lifting her head from the table.

"I have to continue to be a disappointment, I suspect. All my heads on pikes plans..." He grinned and then shrugged playfully. "I’m all out!" He made an explosive gesture with his hands and looked at her, his eyes wide.

And then he seemed to remember who she was, and leaned back to pull his gaze away from her. He let his smile fall.

She took another drink, finishing off her tankard, but didn't move to ask for another.

More softly he added, "But really, I don’t have any. Besides, that all sounds like it hinges on Alistair." He shook his head. "And he doesn’t want to be found."

If he was telling the truth, that there were no dastardly plots... Granted, she could think of no reason for him to be honest with her. But the way he laughed, smiled, fooled around-

Was Teagan so great of a liar?

This was too hard for her. This wasn't what she was trained for. Reading intercepted Orlesian letters? Yes. Sussing out when a confusing and ridiculous nobleman was telling the truth? No.

"She's just scared," Cauthrien mumbled, finally, reaching back to tug her hair free of its restraint. "So I'm here to be righteously suspicious on her behalf. You're not making it easy. You're _supposed_ to lie about things. And be plotting."

She was supposed to echo a lot of Anora's feelings that, on further thought, she didn't share. She should have distrusted him, but it was growing more and more difficult.

And sometimes, she even wondered if Alistair returning would truly be bad for Ferelden.

And then she decided that, on top of everything else, she appeared to be becoming a traitor, and she stared at her pointed lack of ale.

"Well, I apologize," he smiled. "Tomorrow, when I’ve had less to drink and more time to sleep, I’ll be properly confusing. Maybe I’ll even plot something just for you."

Cauthrien snorted and rolled her eyes, looking back up to him. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, she'd be on-balance and this would all be a routine mission and her distrust of him would be firmly back in place. She pushed herself up to her feet- and promptly wavered more than slightly, reaching out to brace herself on the table. He moved to help her. He placed a hand at her elbow, just barely touching her.

"May I?"

She looked down to where he was touching her. He was being more than confusing. She tried to step away, started to say, "I can manage-"

And then she had to catch herself against the table again.

Six tankards had been a bad idea. "... I-" She frowned, frustrated, somehow more embarrassed than she had been at any point that night. She was a proud woman, even with all her self-loathing. And yet, she still needed to get to her room. Or the stables, whichever was closer. She could bed down there, and-

No, that was a horrible idea.

"... yes," she finally said, not quite looking at him.

"Good," he said and reached out with his other hand to steady her and then held his arm out for her like a gentleman might. "I’m happy to help. Tonight." He tapped her hand gently. "Tomorrow however, will be another matter."

**\--**

He hadn’t expected to dine alone. Wasn’t she meant to be watching him?

Though it wasn’t rare that he ate by himself, he enjoyed it more than most times. Knowing that she was somewhere in the house, avoiding him- he had felt a small sense of accomplishment at that.

Still, when the dishes had been cleared, he went looking for her.

After all, what kind of host would let a guest miss dinner? Even if that guest was one as loathed as Ser Cauthrien.

And then he had found her, buried in a drink.

Part of him had smiled at that, this woman, this soldier, hiding in a drink- in his kitchen. The rest of him wondered at how much she had had to drink and if this was to be his life for the next month: Cauthrien drinking his house dry. Perhaps that was to be his punishment for Anora’s suspicions of him.

When he had poured himself a drink, he had only meant to sit long enough to drink it, and maybe to revel in the sight that was Ser Cauthrien, looking so defeated after only a few hours in his house.

Then, she had called herself a war criminal. And he thought it went a long way to explaining her: the surly personality, the lack of food missing from her plate, the drinking. Somewhere, a part of him thought to be more pleased by that. That she understood where her proper place was- that this was an indulgence on Anora’s part for a woman that had been so close to her Father. This was guilt. And he thought she should feel it.

He felt it too. They all had their own part to play during the Blight.

But instead of addressing it, feeding into her guilt, he had just poured her another drink. Mostly, the rest of them were getting on with the lives they had left to live- even his brother who had put so much behind the idea of Alistair as king, was moving on. It seemed that Cauthrien was not one of those people, to put the past aside.

Earlier that day, he’d been determined to be angry and frustrated with her, completely unhelpful. And yet, he’d been joking- no, flirting. He had found it pleasant- easy even, to be nice to her. Especially when she seemed to dislike it so thoroughly.

She seemed to be doing a good enough job hating herself for them both.

So, carefully and like a gentleman should, he guided her out of the kitchen, across the hall, and up the stairs to the guest chamber, stopping occasionally to steady one or the both of them. He had not has as much to drink, but he had enough to make him stop trusting his feet for a moment. She let him lead her, bracing herself with a hand on the wall when she could. They made a clumsy pair by the time they reached her door.

"Safe and sound," he said, patting her hand again.

With a shoulder he helped keep her steady long enough to open the door for her. He waved a hand inside and said, "My lady, your room."

He nearly regretted it as soon as he said it. But he didn’t try and take it back- he just smiled at her and kept his mouth shut. _My lady_. Her, _Ser_ Cauthrien, a lady. He should not be teasing her like this. Playing. It was too easy to fall into this trap- beautiful woman, political unrest, too much alcohol.

She wavered a little on her feet.

"I don't-" she tried, frowning, licking her lips as she searched for words. "Don't usually drink this much. Never drank before- the Blight." Carefully, she tried to take her hand from his arm and move to the door frame.

"There’s a good many things most of us didn’t do before the Blight," he said, watching her. "Drinking seems the least of them."

It had not been his plan to stand at the door, to make sure she was safely inside, but he did.

She was almost inside her room when she turned back to him, a determined look on her face. "So-" she said. "You are not and will not in the foreseeable future be sleeping with the Warden?" She leaned on the door frame again, pushed her loose hair out of her face, doing her best to stare him down. It was less than imposing - more of a curious, pleading look.

Really, when she wasn't scowling, she had a surprisingly soft-featured face. Wide, almost sad eyes, a small, upturned nose- it was incongruous, almost, with her broad shoulders, her calloused hands. It was like she was a different person.

"That’s what I said." He nodded and gave her a questioning look.

He had already admitted to wanting the Lady Cousland, in some capacity. He had been truthful. Not to mention that it was a ways between here and the Warden’s Keep. He’d have to want it badly. It never seemed as pressing as the way Cauthrien was asking him-

His missives to the Warden-Commander Cousland had begun innocently. Then, as he heard rumors, he might share them with her- she seemed interested in regaining Alistair to her group in Amaranthine. After a time, they had turned friendlier and then nearly-

Well, those messages were few and far between but Anora had reason to question their relationship. He had more than once thought what it might be like but he knew the new Arlessa was not the least bit interested in marriage. Still, he thought, there was no way for the Queen to know such things.

"No," he said, firm this time, no longer playing at it.

"Good."

"Good?" He smiled and readied himself to turn and go down the hall to his own room.

She smiled then, a little thing, and pushed herself away from the frame, taking a moment to make sure she could stand steadily on her feet. He waited at the door and watched, in case she took a tumble. He didn’t need her getting hurt after too much drink. That would be a miserable way to spend the next month, for them both.

With a chuckle, he shook his head. "Good night, Ser Cauthrien." And then before he could stop the words, he added, "I’ll dream up a proper plot for you to take to Anora- to the Queen."

"Don't come up with anything too worrying," she said as she finally made her way into the room. She paused a moment, looking down at herself as she undid the clasps of her arming jacket and slid out of it, leaving her in just a sleeveless tunic up top. "She's inherited her father's-"

Her voice faltered.

"... paranoia," she finished in a quieter voice as she made it to the bed and sat down heavily on the edge of it, reaching down to tug her boots off.

He wanted to laugh, but the way her voice caught-

Well, between that and the view. He was used to being around delicate women, excepting one Warden-Commander. She’d never been what he would call delicate. In his time with the Lady Cousland, he’d found it more... attractive than he would have previously admitted to.

Cauthrien, she wasn’t the same, and the history there gave him pause- but he couldn’t help but admire what he saw. Then he wondered how long she might let him stand there, being as how she had not closed the door behind her.

When his thoughts caught up with him, he was able to say something at least. "I suppose, then, that I’ll have to make it intriguing enough and still not possibly actionable."

He had said goodnight, hadn’t he? Still, he watched her pull her boots off a hazy sort of look in his eye, part drink, part sleep and part- _mostly_ attraction. He stayed leaning against the door frame, legs crossed as the frame supported his weight.

She tugged off her second boot, setting both aside, and then looked up to him.

"She's fond of murder mysteries these days," she said, with a shrug. "For reading."

"Murder mysteries?" His eyebrows shot up in true surprise. "Is that true? Certainly she should have gotten enough of all that-" his hand waved without purpose. _During the war._

"Before now?"

Her hands went to the laces of her leggings, seemingly without her notice. His eyes followed her hands-

Right.

He moved away from the door and for a moment wavered on his feet, realizing he had stepped into her room and not out of it as intended.

"Well, I- it seems I-" he stammered a moment. He swallowed to regain feeling in his mouth. "Right, I had said good night already. So...

"I’ll see you in the morning Cauthrien." He turned to leave, for the second time.

"Do I need to come to breakfast?" she asked, words accompanied by the sound of leather sliding down skin.

"Only if you want," he said, taking a deep breath to keep himself from turning to look.

He took several steps and found himself standing in the hallway somewhere between the guest chambers and his own room. He sighed. Three drinks had been too many, clearly. Some of his normal rational thought was returning without his eyes on Cauthrien.

Ser Cauthrien, of all people.

Truly, the way he had entertained thoughts of the Warden-Commander had gotten to him. Changed him more than he thought it would. With that sobering thought he found enough stability to make it the rest of the way to his room, remembering to shut the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Cauthrien attempts to remember what happened the night before, Teagan tries to forget what he almost saw. Cauthrien attempts her first report to the Queen but can't seem to find the words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: None  
> Chapter Rating: T edging on M

Cauthrien woke to a pounding headache sometime after dawn. Morning was when she usually ran through drills, but her head ached too much for it to have done any good. Grumbling and trying to remember exactly what had happened the night before (murder mysteries? six tankards? bann disappointment? his laugh-), she dragged herself from her bed and tried to find her clothing.

After the night before, she had planned to wear her armor and return to being imposing, but that, too, would have to wait.

Still, her arming jacket was almost like armor and gave her the same security and so, dressed much the same as she had been the night before, she left her room and went in search of the main hall.

It was only a few minutes later when she sat herself down with a large tankard of water. Blessed, sweet, cool water. She was too early for breakfast, so she sat in the dining hall, considering what she'd write to Anora.

She seemed to remember, quite clearly, that Teagan had said he was not fucking, nor did he think he would ever get the chance to fuck, the Lady Cousland.

Also, something about being Bann Disappointment and then she had mentioned Anora's penchant for murder mysteries.

This was embarrassing. She _knew_ she had questioned him, knew that she had told him things about her mission that she likely shouldn't have, but all the details were fuzzy- except that he had seemed cheerful and had laughed and she had felt miserable because how dare he feel good?

And she thought she might have apologized about the fields.

By the time the faint scent of breakfast finally reached her, she had managed to get up once or twice to visit the privy and to retrieve parchment from her guest room, and was at that moment tapping her quill against her fingernail, staining it black and trying to remember how to spell _likelihood_.

She stared down at the page, trying to imagine the letters there in some kind of order- but there was nothing, only blank space. She frowned then shook her head. Later. She’d try later.

When she looked up, Bann Teagan was standing in the doorway, watching her.

She met his gaze, questioning and more than a little prickly at not knowing how long he had been standing there. He moved away from the door and joined her at the table, sitting directly across from her.

"Ser Cauthrien," he said as he sat, not quite looking at her. "Good morning." It was polite but not nearly as friendly as she remembered him being the night before.

"Bann Teagan," she responded with a curt nod, trying not to feel too awkward. It didn't work particularly well. At least from his tone they were back to being at least strained acquaintances, and not- not whatever they'd danced around the night before.

Maker, had she really taken off her leggings in front of him?

"I hope you slept well?" he added after an awkward pause with a brief, faint smile.

"Well enough." She looked back down at her report. Likelihood had not materialized there, and every word she glanced at seemed wrong in a way she couldn't put her finger on. Perhaps she should have him proofread- but no, that was a stupid idea.

Though, it did remind her-

"Last night- I seem to remember you asking about the Queen's reading habits. Antivan murder mysteries, and no, I do not understand it at all."

He nodded. He was quiet another moment before he canted his head, finally meeting her gaze. "Antivan? How... odd," he said, his tone a mixture of amusement and curiosity. "Do you think that’s where the Queen has summoned up her fears? Antivan murder mysteries? Wait, no, don’t answer that. Instead- I seem to remember I owe you a plot of some kind."

"Do you?" She frowned, looking up and carefully setting her quill aside. Her spelling might have been questionable, but she at least had decent penmanship, and she would only stain her fingers with ink, not the missive.

He shrugged. "It’s just as well. I haven’t had time enough yet to think up a good one. At least, not one that wouldn’t actually make her want to- well, I think you understand the problem." Teagan was smiling at her again. It made her shift, uncomfortably, and wish that she had steeled herself and donned her armor once more.

She sat back, looking at him and trying to remember. Nothing came. Well, then, to his question. "No, I don't think that's where-" She hesitated. Actually, upon further consideration, it sounded... disturbingly plausible. "No. I doubt that is where she gets them."

"Oh, of course not." He pursed his lips and shook his head jokingly, just as the servants began to bring in breakfast.

Cauthrien watched them with a mixture of appreciation and awkwardness. She was starving, and more than grateful for the distraction, but she had grown up a farmer's daughter and then a soldier, and the idea of being waited upon still felt- wrong. She didn't begrudge a bann his household help, but she would have felt more comfortable serving herself at a mess with other soldiers or holed up in the kitchen again.

She pushed her half-written report, ink pot, and quill towards the center of the table and away from her to make room, thinking again about his 'plot'. It brought back a few, vague things - not wanting to disappoint, giving Anora something interesting, _don't come up with anything too worrying. Paranoia._

Ah.

The Antivan murder mysteries.

 _That_ was where they fit in.

She pushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. After this meal, she would finish writing, send it off, and then go drill. She was already feeling far more human and the food they were bringing out smelled wonderful, even if she couldn't look any of the servants - mostly elves - in the eye. She reached happily for a hunk of still-warm bread, slathered with a mixture of honey and butter.

After another stretch of silence, Teagan interrupted her glorious, wonderful breakfast and asked, "Are you already writing your report? Or is that just to let her know you’re here?"

Cauthrien looked up and swallowed. "Yes," she said, glancing to the pages. "Both. I can recall at least some of what we discussed last night." Though she was having trouble getting it in order besides _combative at first, then became a polite and good host; not fucking the Lady Cousland._ What else was there to tell?

 _Alistair still missing._

 _Disappointing._

But it wasn't disappointing at all- except that Anora would likely still doubt him. It meant there was no plot brewing that would send them back to war. She could remember, too, feeling relieved at that.

"Is there anything in particular you would like me to include? It will be directly attributed to you, of course."

He chuckled at that, bowing his head a little. "Well, I’m sure that anything attributed to me would be summarily dismissed. So, until I have something worthwhile to share, no.

"But I appreciate the offer," he added with a nod.

Good. That saved her the trouble of having to take dictation. She hated that.

She went back to eating, and in contrast to the previous night's picking at her food, her appetite was in full swing. And water- water was still a precious commodity. She drank it like she had drunk the ale the night before.

When her own consumption slowed, though, she sat back and considered him.

"... I apologize if I did anything untoward last night," she said. "And thank you for making sure I got back to my room alright. I might have found myself in the stables this morning, otherwise." She wouldn't have confessed that except that he did truly deserve her thanks. It somehow overpowered her guarded, proud nature.

Shaking his head, he said, "No need. You were a perfect-" He hesitated, frowning slightly, as if searching for a word. "Perfect. You were fine."

She blinked. Swallowed. Frowned, tilted her head, tried to understand.

He glanced away nervously for just a moment and then, "Yes, right. It was my pleasure. You’re-" Again, he paused. "Welcome. You’re welcome." He pushed his plate away, looking clearly unsettled.

Why was he babbling like that?

 _Perfect._ Her, perfect, while drunk and maudlin and wallowing in her own guilt, _perfect, his pleasure_ \- what-

Was she not remembering something very important about the night before?

"... Did something happen last night?" she asked, slowly, shifting uneasily. "You seem-"

She had no word to really describe how he seemed. Sounded.

Teagan's eyes widened and he hurriedly, with a great deal of strain, held up his hands and sad, "No, sorry- I just meant that you were fine. Nothing to apologize for. And that you’re welcome for the escort. It wouldn’t have done to have you falling up the stairs... or to end up in the stables." He nodded, smiled slightly, and absently waved his upheld hand.

Well. She'd trusted him so far.

And really, she thought she would have known if she'd been- if they'd- it had been a long time. She would have known.

"... Right. Well." She looked to her report. "... If you need me - to confess regicide plots or related things to - I'll be here. Or in your practice yard." Wherever that was.

She pushed aside her plate and drew her papers back over to her.

A quick look at it reminded her of her earlier problem and she glanced back to him. "... How is 'likelihood' spelled?" she asked after just a moment's consideration.

He stood, and she watched as he circled around to her side of the table.

"Likelihood?" He glanced down at her papers. "Spelling isn’t your thing, is it?"

She bristled, tensed visibly at his comment, and with his teeth on his bottom lip, he bit back a smile.

"Right, so ‘likelihood’, l-i-k-e-l-i-h-o-o-d."

She dutifully spelled out the word as he said it, even as her lips thinned to a narrow line. That- it looked okay. She would trust him; he had far more practice writing than she did, and likely read a lot more.

She was determined, if he was going to see this weakness of hers, that he would understand where it came from. Looking up from the note, a light, embarrassed blush on her cheeks, she muttered, "I didn't start leaning to read or write until I was eighteen." It had taken Loghain that long to realize that she really was just an illiterate farming girl. He had wanted to teach her-

"I'm better in Orlesian."

Flawless, actually. Articulate, even slightly poetic, though she hated the damnable language. Loghain had drilled her mercilessly in it, allowing weaknesses in her Common once she was literate enough to read orders, to write something that was at least comprehensible.

"Really? My brother’s wife-" Teagan started, then faltered. "It’s just not often that I have occasion to meet someone that has more knowledge, than ‘oh, that sounds Orlesian’." With a glance back down at her parchment he shifted his weight and then looked at her again. "I know it might seem... odd, given I’m currently the subject of said investigation," he nodded at her document. "But I would be willing to help you."

  
**\--**   


Orlesian. Maker, she knew Orlesian- so few people did in Ferelden anymore, and that little detail fascinated him. It was even stronger than his surprise at how poor her spelling was (and it was, indeed, poor). He could tell from how she tensed at his words that he was saying increasingly foolish things, but it was hard to restrain himself around her.

He'd told her she was perfect, earlier. He had meant to say, _perfect guest_. But, she wasn’t a guest, and saying it felt wrong somehow. So it sounded just like- Maker help him. And now she was glaring because he had offered to help her.

"I was instructed in it in case we intercepted spies," Cauthrien said, tersely, and then pulled a sheet of blank parchment over and wrote, quickly, in Orlesian:

 _If you ever make me speak it, I will write the most damning lies I can think of back to the Queen._

And then, when she was sure he had read it, she leaned forward to one of the thick candles that burned in the center of the table and lit it on fire, holding the parchment until it was almost completely burned away.

So, no Orlesian. As he watched the parchment go up in smoke he said, "No need."

She let the last smoldering corner drop to the table. "... if I need the help, I will be sure to remember your offer."

And then after a few moments' silence and to his great surprise, she slid what she already had written over to him, giving him a better look, enough to make out the substance as well as the errors.

It wasn't much:

 _Arived at Rainsfair the previos evning. Was maid to wate out side and was eventuly greeted by a skuire. Led to Teagan's ofice insted of meating in the hal. Aloud me to stay, no fite._

 _Breef qestuning reveled the foloing:_

 _Polite, after inishal crosnes  
Deesent host  
Clame of no nolege of wear Alistair is  
Clame of no past or intenshuns of a fewtur of a romantik or sexul natur with the Warden-Commander_

 _My inishal reed on the mater is that, in al likelihood_

He read the letter and shook his head. Of course, it might all be true, but her spelling... Clearly, this is where the need lay. A lot of it. More than-

Nearly every word.

"Well, I think that pretty well captures everything as it happened." He wanted to make a joke about leaving her to it, as she clearly had everything in hand. But he had seen her make the decision to hand over the letter, and it had not been an easy one.

"I would offer to write it for you," he started and slid the parchment back over to her. "But we both know that’s not the version you would send." He considered a blank piece just out of reach. "Though, if it would help- and it wouldn’t feel too much like an intrusion- it might help you in the rewriting?"

He hoped that was polite enough. Maker, he didn’t want to feel sorry for her. But it was nearly every word, and they would be here all day if he spelled out each word for her and then waited for her to write it down. At least she had managed to spell his name right.

And Warden-Commander.

After a moment's consideration, her brow staying furrowed, she said, "... the Queen will notice if my spelling suddenly improves. And while I'm sure she wouldn't mind it - she corrects all of my notes these days - it would make her suspicious." She frowned at the letter.

"... It's bad, isn't it," she added, quietly. "He never cared, but- It's just- it's _hard_ -" She sat back, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes.

He felt awful for mentioning it. He hadn’t mean to make her- he had only meant to help. But it was bad, very bad and now he didn’t know how to tell her that. He sighed. _Nearly every word._

He cleared his throat and tried to think of something better to say, and then tried not to be angry with Anora. Cauthrien was right, after all; if the Queen was used to such spelling she would notice when it was different. And clearly, when Cauthrien had worked for Loghain, he hadn’t minded at all.

He considered the parchment again. "So, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll write it out for you if you like, and then you can maybe pick words out and spell them the way you have here," he gestured to her letter. "Then she’ll be less likely to notice."

Looking up at her, he smiled softly. "If you like, while you're here, I could help you more." He didn’t have reason to be nice to her other than to keep Anora off his back. Cauthrien was not his friend, but after last night- he didn’t feel much like she was his enemy. She had apologized in a way, and even if she had been drinking, he thought he understood there had been meaning behind it. After all, they did have time together, lots of it, and it wouldn’t hurt either of them to brush up on their skills.

"We have a month at least?" he continued, carefully.

She nodded with only a little hesitation. "I'll finish the draft before dinner," she said, slowly. "And- yes, we have a month." She bit at her lower lip, not looking at him. There was something about how she looked- a vulnerability, a weakness, and combined with her soft features, it made her look young. What had she said? Hadn't begun to learn until she was eighteen? Stories came back to him- the tall, gangly farmer's girl who had rushed to the teyrn of Gwaren's rescue with only a hoe. Or had it been a rake?

She stood up, rather abruptly, and began gathering her things. "I'll- we can talk about this later," she said, gruffly, though her hands shook faintly.

He nodded as she stood. "Certainly." It was going about as well as he would’ve expected, especially considering how badly he had possibly insulted her just by offering- an offer he wasn’t sure he should have made.

But before she stepped free of the bench, she looked to him and took a deep breath. "... Thank you."

  
**\--**   


She left him there in the dining hall, hurrying away while trying to look like she wasn't. She wasn't running. She wasn't ashamed.

Except, of course, that she was. She had fled, embarrassed- and a little flattered. He'd clearly been amused - and not in a good way - at her spelling, but he had offered and waited for her response. Maybe- maybe this wouldn't be so bad. But Maker help him the first time he made fun of her where she could hear.

She went back to her room, put aside her notes and considered her armor. She trained in it some times, to make sure her body remembered the weight. But her head still hurt a little, and the hard ride the day before had taken more out of her than she had first thought. So she just grabbed up her sword, made sure her hair was tied back securely, and went looking for a quiet practice yard.

This was not how she'd imagined her month in Rainesfere. She'd expected something closer to how she had been greeted the day before - Teagan terse, unpleasant, and as distrusting of her as she was of him. She had expected difficulty in getting to the truth. She had expected... not this odd sort of amused kindness. It was surprising. Almost pleasant at times. At others, though, she could only think of how much he must hate her, and that kindness took on a patronizing, superior edge.

Damn nobility.

She went through drills for much of the rest of the morning, practicing guards, strikes, tumbles. She could have used a practice partner, but she had managed before and could manage again.

When Teagan came to stand above her, looking out over the yard, she didn't notice him for some time.

She was too busy moving between guards, advancing across the field. _Vom tag, schrankut, ochs_ \- they were all familiar, second nature, and her movements were fluid despite her wielding a weapon as tall as she was.

It was when she set her blade aside to work on falls and tumbles that, on one, she came up facing his direction.

And frowned, quite magnificently.

He stood, arms crossed, hands in the crooks of his elbows while he watched, and seemed just as taken aback by her seeing him as she was.

She pushed a few loose bits of hair back from her sweat-slicked forehead. There was a brief moment where she thought that perhaps the man was watching her to try and find a weakness- but he had helped her back to her room the night before when she was falling over herself. He'd already found more than enough weaknesses.

"Am I not allowed to practice?" she called out, taking deep breaths to calm her exercise-excited body.

Pushing off his heels he took a step forward and let his hands drop to his sides. "No, I wouldn’t keep you from your practice. I was just- I was passing by and-

"I- I’m sorry," he finished. And with a nod, "I'll leave you to it then. I didn’t mean to interrupt."

She remained frowning up at him. He was- tense. Confused, possibly?

"I was just checking," she assured him, raising a hand to shield her eyes against the sun. "... How much training do you have?"

"Enough to be decent in a fight," he said.

She remembered him, vaguely, at the battle for Denerim. He held his own until the Archdemon had fallen, until the darkspawn ranks had broken and she had been left staring up at the tower of Fort Drakon with the heaviest, sinking feeling taking over her entire body.

"Why do you ask?"

She pulled herself back to the present at his question, pursing her lips. She had seen in him the exact reasons she often turned to sparring to unwind, there in the set of his shoulders, the harried look in his eyes, but as she opened her mouth to ask him to come down, she stopped.

She had destroyed half of his bannorn. She had wiped the blood of some of his people off of the sword sitting just a few feet away from her.

She may have felt more comfortable when he was antagonizing her the day before, but she didn't want him to actually have cause to hate her more. So she shut her mouth and tried to think, shifting uneasily.

No, she couldn't just ask him to come down to her. But-

"If- you ever wanted-"

To spar. To spar. The words were _to spar_ , and she could even spell those. She fell silent, stymied and frustrated with herself.

"Thank you for the offer," he rocked forward and looked towards the house. "But I really should be getting back inside."

He took a few steps and then turned back. It felt like he might say something: ‘I’ll see you at dinner’ or ‘I’ll think about it’ or even another word of thanks. He opened his mouth. Shut it. Then turned back and left without another word.

Well.

That had gone about as well as she had expected.

Yes, invite a man who she had fought against on a country-wide scale to a sparring match. Wonderful. He had declined politely enough, but-

She worked herself hard for much of the rest of the day in frustration. Frustration at making a fool of herself. Frustration for being frustrated. She _should_ be making him uncomfortable; it was her whole reason to be in Rainesfere, and she had succeeded, after a fashion.

But that look back to her-

She didn't know what to make of that, and so she worked herself until she was doused in sweat, shaking with exhaustion, and could barely drag herself into the building proper to have a bath drawn.

The bath was long, lazy, something she rarely allowed herself, but she had so little else to do and it all reminded her of Teagan. Confusing, unreadable Teagan, who seemed at times to actually like her in spite of what she had done. Teagan, who she couldn't get herself to distrust no matter how much Anora's moods demanded it. Teagan who-

She would not think of him.

She sank below the surface of the water and tried to distract herself through other means.

It hurt, still, to think of Loghain. She could barely say his name aloud even to Anora. But the memories were still there, and while bittersweet, they were comforting. He had been her life for so long, all she wanted, and then he had finally pulled her close and-

And she had Loghain Mac Tir for just a little over a month, warmed his bed and given him what support he needed.

Those few weeks had woken up a part of her that, while grief-paralyzed, was still very much alive. Before him, there had been nobody for years. Now she felt guilty, awkward, but that didn't always matter when her hands slid over her stomach and then went lower.

What did matter was when for a brief moment, it wasn't Loghain she was imagining.

It was _Teagan._

That was when she let out a loud growl of frustration, climbed out of her bath, dried off, and tried to get to work on the draft of that letter.

  
**\--**   


He had been determined to lock himself in his office until dinner, determined to actually do something of use until he had reason to be elsewhere. At least he made it to his office. The work part, just like that morning, still wasn’t really- well, working for him. The determination, however, was.

With his chin resting in his palm, fingers splayed against his face, he stared at the paperwork, reading many of them several times. But reading only made him think of that morning at breakfast and Cauthrien’s badly spelled letter, which then made him think about how much he had likely insulted her by commenting on her spelling. She had accepted his help- but it didn’t really make him feel any better about offering it.

And each time he tried to avoid thinking about breakfast, his mind instead replayed what he had seen of her practice in the yard and that was when he had to stop. He had been flustered then- attracted and confused, barely able to look away from her exercise-flushed skin, the flex of her muscles. He pushed those thoughts away, but after a while the whole cycle repeated.

By dinner he felt emotionally drained and frustrated. Still, he had made a promise, and intended to keep it. When it was time, he unlocked his office and then walked down the hall to the dining room to meet Cauthrien for dinner.

She was sitting in the same spot she had for breakfast and when he entered the room, he could feel her eyes on him. He almost thought he saw her swallow, tense, but it was fleeting. She rose from her seat in greeting.

"Good evening Ser Cauthrien," he said. She wore a different pair of leggings from that morning - buckskin, soft and creamy yellow - her boots, and a loose, long-sleeved tunic that looked like Anora might have had it picked out for her, so different and delicate was it from how she had been dressed that morning or the night before.

He tried very hard not to look at her, to compare what she had looked liked outside in the practice yard to the image before him now. He couldn't help but wonder, though, which Cauthrien he would be having dinner with.

He felt slightly embarrassed that she had arrived for dinner before him. "I apologize for keeping you waiting. That was not intended."

"It's no problem," she returned, looking a little embarrassed herself. "I- have the draft, for after dinner," she continued, tugging at the sleeves of her tunic.

"Good."

He took his seat, eyes down, waiting for the meal. He would not think about how... endearing it was, that she looked nervous about going over the letter. Or that he was going to help her with it at all. There were so many things he was trying not to think about that his head felt full of wool, all of the thoughts piling up at once so that he couldn’t not think about them.

With a deep breath, he instead looked for ways he might give them something distracting to discuss. He was a nobleman, surely he could come up with one simple discussion topic that would keep them occupied? But as each usual topic came to mind, he could think of several reasons not to bring it up at all. That left him with-

"I trust the rest of your afternoon was pleasant?"

"Frustrating," she said, and he thought that he caught a faint tinge of pink of her cheeks.. "It took a while to finish the draft. Yours?"

Convinced (because he wanted to be) that he had imagined the blush, he smiled at the thought of her laboring over the draft of the letter, then realized that wasn’t better. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Much the same," he said, still smiling. "I find it hard to write letters when I’m- when I know they’re under investigation. No matter how innocent the letters." There. He could say that and it wasn’t at all saying that he had been thinking more about _who_ was doing the investigating.  Or that he hadn’t actually done much of anything.

"That does remind me though, I was preparing a letter to the Warden-Commander yesterday and thought to tell her about the investigation. I was going to say as much-" without the whole, ‘are you fucking the Warden-Commander’ question- "but you hadn’t said if she was also receiving some kind of investigation?" He tapped a hand on the table thoughtfully. "I suppose it would be harder to investigate without stepping on Grey Warden toes."

"It would be. Which, I think, is why I'm here and not in Amaranthine." She sat back as their dinner was brought out: rabbit, some sort of casserole, lots of cheeses. "As far as I know, though, you're allowed to tell her what I'm here for. The queen never specified secrecy on my part. Just... to investigate." Cauthrien shrugged.

He nodded. "Well, I supposed that settles that question, then."

He was happy to see dinner, not because he was particularly hungry- he wasn’t. No, it also gave them a reason to ignore each other for a while without appearing rude.

More than once, his gaze travelled across the table to her. He only picked at his plate and it gave him time to think and to watch her eat. For the second time that day, he found himself willing to do little else than watch her and think on how different she was than what he had expected.

Bringing a piece of rabbit to his lips, he thought more on her response. Anora hadn’t _specified secrecy_ on Cauthrien’s part- although considering the state she was in, he didn’t know that she would’ve been especially effective. But it did make him contemplate what the Queen may have had planned. Perhaps this was less about him and more some kind of punishment for Cauthrien, having her return to the Bannorn after the war?

The thought was similar to one he had the previous evening - when he had explained why he was determined not to mind the Queen’s investigation of him. He didn’t think the Queen knew exactly what it was she played at. She had placed Lady Cousland, given her the Arling that now worried her, and she had sent him Ser Cauthrien as some sort of-

He didn’t know what.

"Am _I_ under investigation now?" she asked, finally catching his gaze and fixing him with an unflinching look. "You've been staring at me all meal."

"Well, not the _whole_ meal."

Had he- yes, he had said that out loud. Might as well press on then. He quirked an eyebrow at her and shrugged.

"I was just thinking, is all. First, about A- the Queen’s purpose in sending you here." He pushed his plate away and took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to continue his thoughts, to the second point, the third. It might lead them both down a path that wasn’t really- didn’t really serve any good purpose other than-

To satisfy some curiosity, maybe.

She sat back, looking down to her glass of wine, thinking. "To intimidate you, I suppose," she said, after a moment. "And the rest of the Bannorn. If they know she can and will send me to stand around and glare at the slightest hint of disloyalty, that would give her rule strength."

He half-laughed at first, but it caught at her comment about the Bannorn. It was too much a sore spot for all of them. Still, he had to wonder how much Cauthrien understood. Anora seemed more her father’s daughter than he thought any of them, Cailan most of all, had known.

"I'm certainly no spy." She looked over to him, head canted slightly to one side.

Definitely not a spy. Persistent, though.

"I apologize then? …for being bad at being intimidated?" His words remained playful, even if he wasn’t laughing anymore.

"I don't intimidate you? Ah, Bann Disappointment," she murmured, leaned forward with a faint smile tugging at her lips.

That drew the laugh back from him. He bent forward and leaned his elbows up on the table to steady himself.

"I do hope you’ll use that in one of your letters." _I’ll even teach you to spell disappointment_. "I’m sure Queen Anora will find it amusing, especially after she finds out how little plotting I have been up to out here in Rainesfere."

"I might be honor-bound to use it," she agreed with that same, small, lopsided smile - like she was unused to using it. "... And the other things?"

Right, the other things. He shrugged. "Other things? Did I say there were other things?" He asked with a wicked and playful grin.  He was lapsing into his role as good-natured noblemen, something he had warned himself about the night before.  It was dangerous to flirt with a woman like Ser Cauthrien and he was doing it all the same.

She didn't follow his deflection. "You implied it. _First, about the Queen._ And second?" She reached forward to pluck a piece of cheese from the wooden board.

"I suppose I did," he admitted. He had known he was, as he had said it. He just hadn't thought that she would call him on it. "Second, I was thinking how different you are than I expected." And third-

He would keep third to himself a while longer.

She blinked, eyes widening somewhat, and she took on the curious, owlish expression that he'd noticed the night before. "I'm different?" She paused with a piece of cheese against her lower lip, tapped it there, then sat back a little. "I suppose that's the not-intimidating bit that you didn't admit to."

A part of him wanted to say that on the battlefield, he was sure he would be intimidated. But then, he had been, hadn’t he? That’s why he had worked to fight so hard against Loghain, why he had gone to his brother Eamon in the first place. Those thoughts threatened to swallow up the levity of the moment completely.

Certainly the fact that she was attractive without her armor didn’t help him feel intimidated by her. And it was assisted by the view he had gotten of her last night. He very vividly remembered her reaching for the laces on her leggings, remembered the rustling of cloth he had heard before he was too far down the hall to miss it.

His eyes were softer now, and he continued to watch her eat. In order to break his own gaze for a moment, he reached for his wine glass and took a sip. That gave him at least a moment to stop acting like he was teenager again, staring and smiling like he didn’t know any better.

He took a breath. "Something like that," he admitted.

  
**\--**   


She found herself watching him, everything all turned about. He was too nice and she too good-humored, finding jokes where there should have been none. But in at least one respect it was back to how it should have been: her, watching him. That was why she was there.

For some reason.

But she was all too aware that she was watching the wrong things - his fingers on his glass, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way his braid slipped slightly from where it was tucked behind his ear. His laugh, and how she had imagined his hands on her just a few hours earlier.

She cleared her throat more to pull herself back to reality than to gain his attention and looked down to her waist, fished out the folded paper she'd tucked there. It was going to embarrass her, yes, but perhaps that was what she needed. A firm reminder that he was tolerating her. Barely. And that she had no interest in him.

None at all.

She passed the folded parchment to him. "There's the draft."

He looked up from his wine, nervously licking his bottom lip, the swallowed. "Right! We should work on this." He stopped for a breath and to clear his throat as he took the parchment from her. After pushing his plate out of the way so he could unfold the draft, he spread it out on the table in front of him. "We’ll have to get more parchment in a moment."

"I can go get my things?" she suggested, standing. She had barely touched her meal, more out of the awkwardness of being watched than her usual lack of appetite, and she could have eaten more yet. This, though, was better than the awkward silences that seemed to plague them that day, even if she was suddenly even more of a bundle of nerves.

He'd offered to help, but Maker, this was embarrassing. If he laughed-

But as he looked over her report, he didn’t laugh, and her shoulders relaxed somewhat. He put on his best nobleman’s face, earnest and polite, as he read the letter. And then he looked up at her, expression steady. "No need. If you like, we can just use my office."

Them, alone, in a small, private room- but they had managed it the day before. He had just glared a lot. Taken his time. This wouldn't be a problem.

And the bastard hadn't even left her a reasonable opening to decline without sounding... off.

So she was stuck watching him push back from the table and stand, taking the letter with him. He gestured for her to lead as he turned towards the hall. She nodded but did not move in front of him, instead walking slightly behind him and to the right. He hesitated for a moment, looking back at her- but then it was he who led.

It was a comfortable spot, following, and one she was used to. She tried not to think about that.

Once they were in his office, he paused, hand half-raised to push the door closed but he hesitated and then let his hand drop. After, he walked over to where there was fresh parchment on his desk, no doubt from his day's work.

"Please," he said and gestured to a chair. "Have a seat."

She slid into the chair he'd gestured to. She sat like a soldier- straight-backed, with her legs slightly spread like she- well, like she wasn't a noble lady, which they had already established was exactly the case.

She rested her weight on her elbow propped on the arm of the chair.

"Where do we start?" she asked, after a moment. "... _Is_ there anywhere to start?" He had implied, earlier, that he would actually show her how to spell correctly, but that seemed unlikely. She hadn't picked it up so far, and she wasn't young anymore. Noble children were all schooled in their letters when they were young, not even hip-high, weren't they?

Instead of responding immediately, he grabbed a piece of parchment and brought another chair over to the same side of the desk she was on. Then, he pushed a few things out of the way, so they had room on the desk to work.

"Well, I suggested this morning that I could write up a new version of your letter. And then if you like, you can use that to rewrite it and pick and choose what amount of words you want to use." He shrugged. "That’s quickly enough done. After that, I’m... willing to help you learn what you can in your time here, as long as you're interested. Already I can see that you have a grasp of things you use often, so that’s a place to start."

He studied her, brows creased with... worry? She shifted, a little nervously. This was not a conversation she really wanted to be having, and yet-

And yet, she didn't particularly want to leave (unless it was to run away screaming until she found somebody that she could hit; that might make it worthwhile).

She swallowed, sitting back and thinking, not looking at him. She was thirty-three and was, in at least some respects, not entirely literate. It was embarrassing. But she'd lasted as long as she had, and if she started learning, Anora would realize something was happening to her erstwhile guard dog.

But why had Anora sent her on what was essentially a month-long break, given Teagan's honesty, if not to tell her to sit down and be quiet for a while? Stay out of sight?

"... You think I could do it?" she asked after a long silence, glancing to him. There was a hint of vulnerability, there. Of nervousness, self-doubt.

"I do. As I said, you already have some understanding, it’s just a matter of applying that to words that aren’t just names, or- well." He nodded. "I do."

She swallowed, nodded, and then watched as he grabbed for the quill on his desk and leaned over the blank parchment. He started to write out her letter and she followed the scratch of his quill as he worked, leaning over to see what the differences were. It was less painful than Anora's comments, but- Maker, she really was bad at this. It was embarrassing, to know-

To know that Loghain had been saddled with trying to figure out what she was trying to say.

It didn’t take him long at all, and when he finished he smiled and looked back to her. Her face was still flushed with embarrassment, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, her fingers tugging at her sleeves again, but he politely ignored it all.

"It’s nice to know you think I can be trusted after all." There was a hint of his previous playfulness in that, and it relaxed her enough to free her poor, abused lip.

"You've given me no reason not to trust you," she said, a little awkwardly. "And I can read just fine, so if you made any alterations, I'll know." But she did trust him- quite a lot, really, to let him see her writing like this. It made her antsy, but if it had been anybody else (except for Loghain, her mind whispered quietly) she would have already run out.

"No alterations, I assure you," he said, handing over the fresh letter.

He sat back and waited for her reaction

She read it over and picked up her old letter for good measure, comparing the two. He had changed nothing, and while some of the spellings seemed odd or questionable ( _intention_? Really?), they all looked... familiar.

Maker damn him, he was probably right about every single word.

And she hadn't misspelled _everything_. Warden-Commander. His name. On. To. Those she'd gotten right (though not always - apparently there was another form of to?). But it was still- it was painful, and shaming, and even Anora had never done this while sitting right next to her.

Really, it was like when Loghain had corrected her Orlesian, only without the dry comments and stifled laughter, the thin smiles and proffered wine.

... Wine.

That was a _good_ idea.

"If," she said, slowly, "we are going to- to start lessons tonight- then perhaps we should have some wine sent up." She would never have asked that of Anora, not even of Loghain. She blinked as she realized that.

"That can be arranged," he said when a smile. He stood and went to ask after it.

Good, wine. Wine could in no way make this more awkward.

Unless she drank enough of it that he had to help her back to her room again, and stay to make sure she could get her boots off without collapsing and banging her head.

She sat forward and pulled another piece of fresh parchment towards her, dipped a quill, and began to rewrite the letter. It was so tempting just to copy it all out as it was. Perhaps tell Anora she'd had it dictated - just to make herself look less pathetic. But no, she'd have to improve slowly for the queen not to question her. So instead, she fixed only the smaller words, leaving the larger, more complicated ones untouched.

The image of her sprawled out drunk on the floor of his keep remained with her, however, through every word, until she had copied out the letter and Teagan had returned. She looked up, then, a frown on her face. The time apart had given her room to think, and all she had been able to turn her mind to had been all of those embarrassing little moments of the last few days, moments where she was no longer the imposing Ser Cauthrien but instead a nervous or drunk or oddly shy, bumbling, too-tall farmer's girl.

"What do you think of me?" she asked, bluntly, staring him down.

"Think of you?" he asked as he lowered himself back into the chair next to her.

"You said you weren't intimidated by me." _Any more_. She knew from his reaction the day before that if she tried, she could have still made him back away in terror.

She tried not to think about that. "And it seems," she pressed on, looking down to the letter, where she could see now every word that was still misspelled, even if she couldn't fix it without going to his copy, "that I'm... incredibly pathetic, in quite a few ways."

This and the drinking. Oh, Maker, the night before had been a terrible idea. Should have taken the ale with her to the stables; no chance of discovery there.

... That was not a good way to be thinking. She'd seen good men go down like that.

She let out a rough little exhale in frustration, and stood, ostensibly to stretch out her leg. "... But you're here, all the same."

Teagan watched her in return, running a thumb against the stubble along his jaw a moment. "I see," he finally said, words slow and carefully chosen. "However, I do not think..." He paused for a moment, pursed his lips before continuing. "... that you are pathetic." He looked down, away. "I would not be here, as you’ve said, otherwise. In fact, would not _want_ to be."

When he looked back to her again, his expression was mild, calm.

She relaxed at that, hand going to rest on the arm of her chair, fingers drumming for a moment. Thinking. She should not have been so affected by his good will, and there was something about his answer-

 _Want to be here._

He wanted to have her sitting in his office with wine on the way, with only the hope of her fumbling with words a little less for his trouble?

She gave him a curious look, not quite a frown, and sat back down.

"... You want to be here?"

She hadn't intended to ask that at all. And when the words had come out, she had intended for it to be a flat statement. Instead, her voice was more confused and soft.

And she was thinking about his laugh.

Had she ever-

Had anybody ever-

Her relationship with Loghain had been rough, forceful, and so this whatever-it-was seemed incomprehensible in comparison. Bizarre. Completely in her head, and so she forced herself to look away.

Teagan, however, sounded steady as he replied, "Yes. I do."

A servant knocked on the door and Cauthrien looked up. Teagan called for the girl to enter and then rose from his chair. Once the wine had been placed, he crossed the room following her back to the door. With little hesitation this time, he pushed the door until only the smallest sliver remained open.

This was when she should have stood up, knocked back half the bottle, and reminded him once again that she had torched half his lands and forced his people to starve. But instead, she just stood and walked over to where the wine was and poured herself a glass. Not half the bottle.

"Oh," she said, bringing it to her lips and taking a sip.

He poured a glass for himself. After a moment, he looked at her and nodded.

"Oh, indeed."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, indeed." Cauthrien and Teagan attempt to navigate their relationship - and Cauthrien isn't sure she can handle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Violence  
> Chapter Rating: M

Cauthrien stared.

Growing up on her father's farm, out by the east-most bend of the Hafter river, she'd had a few fumbling encounters with boys. But then, still growing, gangly and awkward, she had met Loghain. From there it had been obsessive loyalty and adoration. It had been one man. Those long years of devotion hadn't involved courtship, not even by the end when he had pulled her close. They had involved working together, proving herself, being worthy.

This, however-

She couldn't let this happen. Teagan looked bashful and earnest and it made no sense. It would only hurt the both of them, could only end in ruin, and she shook her head.

"I burned half your bannorn," she said, not looking at him. "And you're enjoying the prospect of teaching me how to spell."

“I haven’t forgotten who you are, Ser Cauthrien.” His jaw clenched. “Nor, did I say I-” He faltered, frowned. “I said I would help you. But, only if you wanted it.” He shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders and jaw tensed. “And I still will, if that’s... all.”

"I do want you to," she said, anger turning inwards, becoming less obvious except in the set of her own jaw, the thin line her lips were pressed into. "... But I didn't come here to encourage you to make a fool of yourself." A fool of herself for reading more into what he'd said? What he'd implied? Yes. But not of him.

This was too much like forgiveness.

She emptied her cup and set it down, in preparation for being kicked out, for getting herself to leave. She didn't move.

Teagan let out a derisive snort. "I am positive I am capable of making a fool of myself without your help.” He gestured to indicate their current exchange.

With a shake of his head, he drained the rest of his glass and set it next to hers, picked up the bottle and poured them both another round. He held out her glass for her first. “However, you did ask me what I thought. And I- well, I thought you should know. Your current, or former employment or _activities_ ,” his jaw clenched just on reflex and he struggled to force a smile again before finishing, “aside.”

"That's- I meant-" she got out, stumbling over her words.

But he already knew what she had meant. He simply wasn't blaming her for his kind words, his stumbling compliments, his foolishness.

Maker, she wasn't imagining that he was flirting with her, was she.

She took the glass from him and moved to go sit down once more - which she did, heavily. She took another sip. She shouldn't get drunk here, but it was sorely tempting; otherwise, she had no idea what she was doing.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," she echoed aloud, scowling over at his desk for a moment before sighing and closing her eyes.

“Well, that makes two of us,” he said with a soft voice.

She wondered for just a moment what it would be like, to play out the fantasy her wayward imagination had provided that afternoon. And then she reminded herself that it would only damn Teagan in the eyes of his freeholders - and the other banns. And then where would he be?

Just another casualty at her hands.

"... So," she said, swallowing thickly and trying not to let grief or shame creep onto her face. "Spelling. We should-"

But she couldn't think of a way to finish the sentence except to take another drink. She was turning slowly into Loghain - guilt-wracked and making more and more horrible decisions.

"I should just go," she said, standing up. It was time to retreat. Retreat and-

This was not Ostagar, so why was her brain shouting that this was the exact wrong decision, that it was a betrayal? Of herself, this time, but it was too similar for comfort. She froze in place.

Teagan set his glass down and crossed the room, putting himself between her and the door. “Even if you leave- “ he took a breath and studied her face. “If you leave now... my offer will stand.”

He took a step towards her. She stood her ground.

It was hard, watching him approach and knowing that, whatever he was about to do, it would be a bad idea. Turn her aside, beckon her close- both would end horribly, somehow. But if he was going to force a choice with his movement, she was going to clarify it first.

"Your offer to teach me, or-?"

She didn't know, couldn't put into words, what the other thing they were dancing around was. It was something intimate, something for which he was willing ignore who she was and what she had done.

She held herself steady, keeping his gaze, though her pulse sped up and she felt hazy from more than the wine. The wineglass in her hand shook slightly.

He slowly took another step towards her, leaving little room between them. “I’d like you to stay Cauthrien,” her name was soft on his lips. He smiled and shook his head, “And not for a spelling lesson.”

No title.

No _Ser_ , just her name, and spoken- spoken like _he_ had eventually begun to say it.

Teagan Guerrin wanted her to stay. He wanted _her_ , and part of her responded to that. He was former opposition, but he was also capable, charismatic, handsome.

And he was committing political suicide.

"I-" She looked down at her wine, wanting nothing more than to finish the glass. Not yet, though; not with him so close, not in this precarious moment. "If you... pursue this," she said, carefully, not sure how to frame it so as not to insult. She didn't want to insult him. "If you pursue this, your people will hate you."

“I’m not doing this for my people.” There was no smile, no joking playfulness, not even a hint of distaste at the thought as he said it.

He took the last step that remained between them and reached for her wine glass, gently prying it from her fingers. He set it on the desk behind her, leaving nothing between them but a few inches of air. He waited.

 _You're a fool_ , she thought, for a moment miserable despite her confused hopefulness.

But Arl Eamon had gotten away with marrying an Orlesian woman soon after the Occupation ended. And Cauthrien-

Well, it seemed Cauthrien had a thing for men who made career-ruining decisions.

She'd been there for just over a day- and yet it had been eighteen years between Loghain and the boy she'd been with before that. This was only eight months away, and a day of intermittent, awkward company. It made no sense. But she'd wanted Loghain within minutes, heaving for breath after the bandits had all been killed. That was how she worked, then; yes or no, quick decisions.

Her cheeks colored faintly and she glanced away. But it was only a moment; she made her decision. She did not shy away from her chosen course of action.

She leaned in and kissed him, one hand going to touch lightly at his jaw to steady herself.

His hand reached around her, tentatively at first and then caught in the moment, with a little more pressure against her lower back, he pulled her towards him.

Eight months. Eight months since Loghain's pyre had gone cold, and she-

She pushed that aside. She didn't want to dance around this anymore. She wanted, for one moment, not to live in the past, the guilt, the shame of what she had done.

She let him pull her close as she kept her lips against his. She hadn't gained much experience with Loghain; it had been awkward fumbling, him pushing, her allowing him. She followed orders, even then. All she knew to do on instinct was to reach up and slide her fingers into his hair to keep him close.

He pulled her closer and smoothed his hand up her back, tangling his fingers in her hair in return. He tempted with a light touch of his tongue and she made a small sound, a whimper, before parting her lips, responding and matching him move for move. Her hands in his hair tightened, her thumb catching on his braid, running over it. It was similar- but not. The scratch of his whiskers against her skin kept her firmly grounded in the present.

It kept her away, too, from Anora's or Loghain's voice yelling at her for kissing a Guerrin.

She took a step back towards the desk, seeking an anchor. She didn't let go of him, instead dragging him after her, his steps matching hers and then pressing her more firmly back. He hooked his fingers around the hem of her tunic, lifting just enough that he could stroke his thumb over the skin of her stomach, catching the sound she made on his lips. She arched as he trailed his other hand along the bottom of her ear, down the line of her jaw, and then tilted her chin down to him just enough that he could slide his tongue into her mouth with ease.

Her stomach twisted and roiled and she groaned more loudly, reaching back to grip the wood for balance. She was vocal by nature, something that Loghain had discovered much to his embarrassment the first time he had pushed her up against a wall and set his lips to her throat. He had kept a hand over her mouth after that to ensure discretion.

But here she had only his kisses to muffle her voice.

She hooked one leg around his to pull him closer and he answered her by catching her body against his, kiss deepening still further. He only broke away to take the hem of her tunic in both hands, tug it up and over her head.

She exhaled shakily as the fabric passed over her head and he tossed it aside, smile nervous and uncertain as she set to work unfastening the toggles of his doublet. She covered her wariness with another kiss, easily sinking into it this time. When she closed her eyes, she felt his hands go not to her waist or hips but to her hands, helping her with each catch of a clasp. Clothing was faster to remove than armor, and even a little hazy from the wine and the coiling arousal working through her, she was soon pushing the fabric off of his shoulders, fingers gripping at his arms and pulling him in close to feel skin on skin.

His arms encircled her and she felt his first tugs at the lacing of her breastband; she kept it bound tighter than most women to compress herself, and the ties were taut from the strain. The knot refused to give and with a frustrated growl, his hands dropped instead to the waistband of her leggings.

Her own fingers trailed up along his back, pleased by the play of muscles beneath his skin. He was no Loghain, battle-hardened and scarred, but he was also no lazy nobleman content to let others fight his battles for him. She found little scars in unexpected places and took to dragging her short-clipped nails over them, feeling him shudder and sigh. She finally buried her fingers in his hair once more, pulling him closer, forcing the kiss deeper once more.

His hands dipped below the edge of her waistband, then slipped between them to find the laces. She pulled her hips back just enough to give him access, tilting them to make it easier, but as he pressed his palm to the bottom of her belly, he paused. His lips on hers stilled, and then he pushed away.

He kept the kiss as long as he was able, and when it broke he whispered, "The door-" and turned and crossed the space as fast as he could. She nodded, once, and then settled back against his desk to watch, toeing off her boots and trying to regain her breath. She was flushed, heart hammering, body aching with liquid heat.

It was probably a good thing that he hadn't taken up her offer of sparring. She would have been a wreck afterwards.

He returned to her, catching at the laces of her leggings even before he had stopped walking. He didn't press close immediately, however, and he looked her over as his fingers worked at the knots. She was pale and largely unscarred from fighting in heavy plate, though she had many rough patches of skin, callouses from weapons and armor alike. He brushed his lips against one of those at her shoulder, then looked up to her and murmured, "Cauthrien." He smiled.

She exhaled shakily, hands gripping tight at the wood she leaned on, watching him work. The moment the laces were free, however, she straightened up and hooked her thumbs along the waistband, shifting her hips to slide free of the tight leather.

Before he could kiss her again, she swallowed and, remembering her earlier thought, said, "If you don't want your whole estate to hear me, find something to gag me with." The confession made her cheeks flush darker and brighter still.

He lifted an eyebrow in question, then nodded, gaze falling back to the column of her throat, the final fall of the buckskin from her legs. His hands went to the laces of his own trousers, then, and they soon followed hers to the ground. Freed, he pushed her against the desk once more, his motion less than gentle.

She should have pushed, should have insisted, kept him from making more of a scandal of this than it already would be, but she made contact hard with the edge of the desk, and it drew a surprised, pleased groan from her as she reached for him, pulled him in for another kiss.

She'd never known what it was like to have gentleness; she preferred rough, combative battles for dominance. Or, at least, she thought she would have preferred the last - she had always yielded to Loghain, let him pin her down on his table strewn with maps, let him hold her as he tried to find sleep those last few weeks.

Her hands, finding his his hair once more, turned rough and a little forceful as she pushed herself up to sit on the desk itself. There were papers there, trinkets, tools, but those got covered or pushed aside. He laughed and she heard him toe his shoes off as her hand slid against a pile of papers. Her letter to Anora was in there somewhere.

Should she report this?

She groaned again, this time a noise closer to a growl, and hooked one of her now bare legs around his hips. He tried again to undo the ties of her breastband and she arched, giving him the access he needed. It slithered open, then slid over her skin and to the floor.

Teagan leaned in again, lips finding her throat this time, leaving a trail of kisses up to her ear. His breath was ragged and her responses, her little moans and twitches, drew an answering sound from his lips. She trapped his hips against hers, rocked against him, listened for a hitch in his breathing.

When she heard it, she couldn't help the moan that rose from her throat, loud and needy, and she pressed one of her hands to her mouth to stifle it, slipped two fingers between her lips to bite down on. For all her years of repression - perhaps because of them - she was sensitive and responsive. A part of her had thought it was all because of Loghain - his hands and lips on her skin, bringing desperate, thankful cries to her lips - but she felt just the same now with Teagan against her.

What did that mean?

She didn't care. She could feel Teagan's arousal rocking against her hips, his hand sliding to her waist, then to her hips, tugging at the edge of her smalls. He dragged the fabric down just a bit, just enough to slide his hand across her waist, feel at where her hips turned and led down between her legs. He kissed his way down her chest as he pushed her smalls further down, inch by slow inch, and when his mouth found a nipple, he sucked it between his lips, tasting her, humming quietly against her. She gasped and arched, leaning back.

At first, her other hand stayed tangled in his hair, keeping him close, even as she shuddered at his touch and the scrape of whiskers against her skin, but then she had to let go, grip the side of the desk hard instead. She let go of his hips with her leg only to shift and kick her smalls down and off.

The wine glass was still on the desk, and it rattled as she hooked her legs around his waist again and pulled him hard against her. She ground her hips against his, whimpering and letting her head loll back.

He continued his investigation of her nipple, drawing circles around it with his tongue, interspersed with quick, flicking motions and nips of his teeth. She bucked against him and he responded by dropping a hand to tug at his own smalls, letting them fall. That hand then rose to cup her other breast, kneading, teasing.

Cauthrien groaned, gasped, and tried not to think about how Loghain had never been so attentive, so focused on her body.

She rocked her bare hips against his and made another low, needy sound at the sensation. She felt the slide of his fingers against her neck, then over her cheeks, and then he touched at her lower lip. She shuddered and opened her eyes (when had she shut them?), looking down at him hazily.

And then she slipped her fingers, already a little bit tender, from her mouth and took his instead, flicking her tongue along the tips to taste him, to get used to the feel of him.

That left her one hand to brace herself on the desk and one to tangle back in his hair, tugging on his braid, guiding him as she pressed herself up against him. He moved, sliding his hand from her breast to trace down her stomach and between her legs. A brief touch to her center, and then he was rolling his hips forward, pushing into her with a low groan echoed by her own gasping cry.

Her body accepted him easily, and she rocked her hips to take him further, shuddering and whining around his fingers. She shifted her legs until her heels were pressed to his lower back, until she could urge on his thrusts by tensing her legs while she rolled up against him.

 _Oh Maker._

Eight months. It had been eight months and while that was _nothing_ to the wait before that, it was everything in that moment. She cried out loudly the first time he thrust deep and shut her eyes, gripping his scalp hard enough to hurt.

She wanted it to hurt, just a little. For every bit of her that existed only in the present moment, there was a tiny echo of _you know what you did_ , a tiny echo that was waiting for punishment, for aggression, for frustrated anger. She wanted that just as much as every lathing sweep of his tongue.

He breathed her name against her breast and she could feel the vibrations go straight through her.

He pushed, pulled, rocked with her. He bucked against her heels and changed rhythms, using quicker and sharper thrusts- deep, but with less control, less tenderness. The sharpness of his thrusts, the way it made her jerk against the desk, made her cry out, relieved and burning still hotter. Her movements back against his hips grew harsher.

He lifted his head, leaving her breast and finding her neck again, leaving nips, playful and teasing up to her ear. She moaned at every one of them and he wrapped his lips around her earlobe and sucked, pulling it between his teeth for just a moment before letting it go. He whispered in her ear. It may have been her name, it might only have been _yes_ and _please_.

She groaned, threw her head back, arched violently.

And then she pressed his fingers from her mouth with her tongue just long enough to gasp, " _Hurt me_ -"

**\--**

Ah.

He slowed and braced his arm on the table so he could look at her. He had heard her, but something in her voice made him nearly stop. He knew which side of the line she was on now, between abandon and actively seeking pain, and he wasn’t sure that he liked the implications.

They might be two adults, with the ability to play how they liked, but this was little different than the way she had buried herself in drink the night before.

She let out a needy, frustrated whine as he slowed to a halt.

“You understand that this isn't meant to be a punishment, don’t you?” he asked, quietly, feeling her flinch at the question. He hated the idea that she might have submitted to him out of some sort of guilt, felt a momentary flare of sick anger at the thought.

This wasn’t want he wanted at all.

Maker. He didn’t withdraw from her but he did stop and take his fingers out of her mouth so she could answer him properly.

"I know," she got out, voice hoarse and thick. She had trouble meeting his eyes, and lightly rocked her hips, as if it would make him forget, continue. "I just-"

He sighed. He wondered for a moment what exactly he had expected.

“Well then,” he laughed. “This is...” _Awkward. Embarrassing_. His heart was still racing, his breath still catching up to him.

And when he looked at her, spread beneath him, pale and with those eyes- _Maker_. His body was definitely still long behind his question, still needy and hoping that whatever lay ahead meant more of what he had interrupted.

But it was a question worth asking. The look on her face said that she really wasn’t that sure that she agreed, that she was looking for punishment even when she said she wasn’t. He leaned down and kissed her. It was soft, tender, breathless. That was what it should have been like from the beginning. That’s what he wanted still.

And whatever it was that _she_ wanted, she was wrapping her arms around him, lifting herself slightly off the desk to be closer to him. She didn't nip or suck or bite; she responded in kind to him this time, matched his soft movements with ones of her own. She shuddered, arms tightening around him.

That was enough to bring some sort of life back into him, some strength. He pushed both arms around her back, holding her close, fingertips still and forearms bracing her, so she wouldn’t lay back around the desk. Couldn’t.

His hands weren’t soft but he could use them gently, and when he was sure she wasn’t moving away or trying to push him faster, he trailed fingertips around to her side, walking down the length of her ribs and waist, over her hips. Settling his hands around her, he grabbed her and pulled her closer, regaining the purchase inside her he had lost earlier. Her legs stayed tangled around his hips, though she had lost the angle to press her heels to his back. One of her hands slid gently up into his hair but this time she didn't pull, didn't grab.

He kept his mouth on hers, still gentle, but with a soft tongue caressing at her lips, unhurried. There was a low groan from him as he pulled into her again, kissing the sound onto her lips.

She shuddered again, and the sound she made was still part moan, but was also part sob.

He let his fingertips curl, just a little, into the flesh of her hips, her rear. It wasn't enough to hurt, just enough to feel her in his hands. Sinking into the thought, and into her, he rolled his hips forward again, pulling her close and feeling her around him.

When her breath caught, he listened for it, keeping his mouth on hers, kissing, tasting. He parted his lips for her tongue when she moaned, and waited to see what else she would do.

There was a determination in him now, a concentration to be as diligent, as precise as possible. He didn’t know her experience but he could feel when he was close- when she was close- and he slowed or sped up his pace accordingly. Her earlier insistence wasn’t gone from his mind but he used it instead as stimulation to do anything but what she had asked.

Soon, Cauthrien began to move insistently against him once more, breathing whimpers and sighs against his mouth as she clutched him tightly. When he could feel her coming back to him, he sped up just enough to keep rhythm with her breathing. The hand in his hair loosened and she trailed fingers over his cheekbone, along his ear, exploring. She groaned into his mouth, her hand at his back scrambling for purchase, finding it on his shoulder, and she tried to lean back.

He pushed her back down slowly, letting his other arm fall way and catch behind her shoulder. He didn't let her settle all the way onto the desk, instead giving more space between them. He drew his mouth away from hers, slowly, and she cried out in response as he trailed kisses down her throat. He smiled against her skin. She moved one of her legs, braced her foot against the edge of the desk, used the leverage to keep tempo, to contribute, to push and rock.

He kissed at her throat and shoulder, wishing away all the places he had nipped at earlier, and when he gave her the same opportunity, she echoed his motions. Her lips were soft and feathery, gentle but insistent as she curled around him, shuddering. She found his pulse. She found the sensitive spot just behind the corner of his jaw.

She learned quickly, he thought - not imitating his actions, but finding similar ones of her own. She could be tender, when she wanted.

And as he approached a level of need that made him let out a slow, low groan, he muffled it against her skin, a murmur of her name.

She tensed and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, rolling her hips- and then she trembled, clutching at him, fingers digging in to the skin of his back. She lost herself in wordless cries and murmurs of _Yes, yes, please- Teagan- Maker, I-_ , moans on the edge of sobs that she caught with her hand pressed to her lips.

At the tensing of her muscles around him, he lost control, just a little- just enough. His vision was hazy, but he opened his eyes to look at her. He caught words, the barest edges, and he sped up that last little bit. That was all it took for him to push himself over the edge, where he could feel himself come inside her as she was undone beneath him. He let another moan escape, quick to find her mouth and leaving the breath there with her as he finished.

Her body curled around him once more, all too-long limbs and sinewy muscles, and she pressed little, needy kisses to every inch of skin she could reach.

He smiled lazily in the aftermath. He nibbled at her ear gently and then kissed it before he slowly pulled away.

She clung to him for just a moment, trapping him against her, but then she sat back exhausted, hands behind her to prop herself up. Cauthrien sucked in deep breaths, her eyes remaining closed.

He went to her again, having only needed that moment of space- that wash of air to cool his flushed skin. He wrapped an arm around her and grabbed the glass of wine they had managed to leave standing on the table in the other.

With a kiss to the cheek, he offered her the glass.

She opened her eyes and, shakily, she took the wine glass. She stared at it for a moment, then finished off the last of the wine, accompanying it with another deep breath and shaking exhale. She passed the empty glass back to him, and slipped then from the edge of the desk onto shaky legs and bent to reclaim her smalls, not looking back to him.

He watched her, trying to steady himself. For a moment, he thought about taking the seat she'd left until he saw her reaching for her smalls. With a nod to himself, he looked for his own.

As he pulled them on, he looked at her, eyes narrowed and studying what he could see of her. “Cauthrien?” She was halfway into her leggings when he said her name, and she paused. Swallowed. He had known there would be a moment like this- had prepared for it earlier when they’d stopped. But now-

He reached for her tunic where he had thrown it on the other side of the desk, held onto it. He saw her breastband nearby and grabbed that too. It was only slightly petty, he thought. He wouldn't force her in to talking, but he wanted to at least make her acknowledge she was running.

She finished pulling her leggings up and worked on the laces, looking up at him. "I need some air," she said, voice quiet and wavering. She held out a hand for her clothing.

He hesitated, watched her for a moment, then looked down at her outstretched hand. He wanted to smile, to say something to comfort her, but she seemed certain. Reasonable. That’s what he wanted her to be-

Not the woman that thought herself pathetic.

With a nod, he reached his hand out, tunic and breastband bunched together. She took her clothing from him with a murmured thanks and dressed quickly. He thought about dressing himself, even going so far as to grab his breeches and slip them back on. When he looked to where the rest of his clothes rested, he decided against it and leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her finish dressing.

It wasn’t sexual or overt like how he had watched her earlier. Instead, it was contemplative, his lips pursed and his teeth grabbed at the skin inside his bottom lip. They could talk tomorrow, provided she still wanted him to help her learn better spelling.

She didn't meet his gaze even when she approached and, after a bit of searching, found the newest version of her report to Anora. "I'll see you in the morning," she said, folding the letter and tucking it into the pouch she belted back on, then headed for the door. "Thank you for- tonight."

He shook his head. “Thank you.” And then he added, “In the morning, then.” It wasn’t curt, necessarily, but he wouldn’t delay her either. As he thought on it, they both needed space- and time.

After she left, he poured himself another glass of wine. He didn’t finish dressing, but he at least picked up his things and put them on his chair as he brought it back around to the right side of the desk.

As he busied himself putting everything back in order, he found her letter to Anora, the first one she had shown him. He read it again, a smile on his lips and then turned to store it away. Whatever happened in the next month, he would keep that much of her.

When his office seemed nearly in order again, he picked up the bottle of wine and took it to his desk, sat in his chair and didn’t move again until he had finished it off. At least then, he knew, he would be able to sleep.

Without leaving instruction or comment of any kind, even leaving the rest of his clothes behind, he went to his room. He was right. The wine did help him sleep.

**\--**

Cauthrien, however, slept horribly.

When she went back to her room, she had felt heavy, languid, sated. She should have let herself sleep then. She knew exhaustion well, but not this pleasant haze. Eight months ago, every interlude had ended with the reminder that there was work to be done, enemies to be vanquished. Here, there should have been only how her legs still trembled and her eyes wanted to close.

But she was trained to work, and she sat up late into the night, thinking about what in Andraste's name she was doing, and what she was going to do about it. Bann Teagan. On his desk, in his office, begging him to hurt her- and him _refusing_. That was never supposed to have been tender. She'd nearly cried by the end, buried herself against his body and sobbed.

She was hurting, had been bleeding out ever since- not even Loghain's death. Since she had realized they were losing. Before that, when she killed men and women no different from her parents. Before _that_ , when she had given the order to retreat at Ostagar.

And a very large part of her thought that she deserved that slow, wasting death.

It seemed like Teagan wanted to bandage her, wrap her in a blanket and let her rest.

It was dangerous, and foolish, and it would only hurt his future. Anora would lose what little respect she had for Cauthrien. But Cauthrien was honest, and direct, and so she knew that Anora would have to be told. By her, preferably, and within the month.

She fell asleep bent over her writing desk.

The next morning, early, with a headache and a lingering ache between her legs and at her throat, she woke up, donned her armor, and went straight down to the stable.

She said nothing to anybody.

She ignored that she had told him she would see him in the morning.

**\--**

By the time the wine had worked it’s way through his body, he was good and asleep, but that didn’t stop him from waking up early. He had had dreams of Ser Cauthrien beneath him, sometimes ending well, sometimes stuck on her request. _Hurt me_.

 _He got dressed quickly and was determined to find her before breakfast, hoping that she had enough time think the night before. That they could talk. But when he walked down the hallway, he found the door to the guest chambers open, Cauthrien - and her things - missing._

 _When he asked after her, no one had seen her. _Maker’s breath-__

When she ran, she ran.

He headed for the first place he thought to look knowing that her things were missing and found that so too, was her horse.

Cursing, he saddled his own horse and rode out after her. He knew it was early and that the people of Rainesfere would be awake, would be setting about their daily business and that seeing their Bann on his horse at this hour, racing out of town, was bound to cause confusion.

At that moment, he didn’t care.

He leaned forward in his saddle, chasing after her, riding hard on the road towards Denerim until there was an actual a form of her on the horizon to chase. As he rode closer, he sat back enough to yell after her.

“Cauthrien!”

He thought he saw her look back, but then she just bent forward, spurring her horse on to greater speeds.

She saw him, he knew she had. He kicked his heels and leaned forward again. He would catch her. He didn’t question it- knew it for a fact-

She was running. And he would catch her.

He was closer this time when he yelled after her: “Cauthrien, Stop!”

At first, she just kept riding without another look back and he thought she might ride forever. But then she pulled up hard on the reins, her garron coming to a fast halt, rearing and turning to face Teagan. She stared at him from under her grand helm.

"Bann Teagan," she said.

And then she dismounted in a great rattle of armor, her cloak swinging behind her, and began to unbuckle the Summer Sword.

With a deep breath and no idea what he would say to her (but a great deal of determination to say something), he dismounted as well.

**\--**

She drew her sword and though she held it in a low guard, at her hip and pointed forward to the ground, she was not relaxed. She was not approachable. One step and she could disembowel a man. One step.

She knew that step very, very well.

He stood his ground.

“Cauthrien.”

"I'm returning to the capital," she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. "I suggest you do not attempt to hinder me. I am, after all, on the Queen's orders."

She didn't think about how unarmed he was- how he had raced after _her_ , the killer, Loghain Mac Tir's dragon, unarmed, unguarded, just to bring her back. Couldn't think about that.

"You have a bannorn to help rebuild. I suggest you return to your duty, Bann Teagan."

He didn’t take his eyes off of hers. “I believe,” he said very slowly and very carefully, “and we can check the orders on my desk, that your orders are to stay in Rainesfere for a month.”

The muscles of Cauthrien's jaw twitched, and she shifted her grip slightly on the hilt of her sword.

"My orders were invalidated when I compromised my own integrity as an agent of the Queen. If I had not left, I would have reported my-" She looked away for just a flicker of a heartbeat.

"Indiscretion. And she would have called me home. I am simply expediting the process. Since there is nothing of worth to investigate more in Rainesfere, I am going to where I might be _useful_."

Without moving from his spot, Teagan shifted his weight.

“I will not hinder your progress if you choose to continue...” He took another breath and then even slower than he had spoken before, he continued, his tone gentle but firm. “If you go... I will continue to ride after you.”

With a slow nod he added, “Cauthrien.”

Cauthrien shook her head. "If you decide to follow, you have two options: I cut your horse down, or I cut you down."

She could see how his jaw clenched even at that distance. He kept his eyes on her and she quietly cursed his foolishness - or his bravery. But as she watched, his features softened and his shoulders relaxed.

“Do you really think so little of me? Of...” He sighed, closed his eyes.

Something twisted in her, low and dark, and she fought the urge to look away. To back away. To mount up and ride away and not look back, and if he was with her when she reached wherever she stopped for the night-

Maker, she could remember far too well his lips on hers-

She scowled.

"You appear," she said, slowly, picking at her words, "to be enamored of the idea of putting me back together. And if I don't want that? If I, at least, can remember what I did to the people of Ferelden, even while you ignore it? You say you don't forget, but if that were true, last night-"

Last night, he would have risen to the opportunity to hurt her.

He would not have held her close.

"So yes. You are a fool. A fool who would risk his people's hard-earned goodwill for a month with a war criminal with no future. Turn. Back."

This time when his jaw clenched, it stayed that way, and his expression was determined when he looked at her again. “So, I have this clear then- because I didn’t throw you out of my house, was a gracious if reluctant host, because I cared,” he paused as he struggled to keep his arms from shaking, “because I didn’t- didn’t hate you, because I didn’t _hurt_ you - _I’m_ the fool?”

He took a step forward, his hands balled into fists, knuckles white.

“I just want to make sure that we’re clear. That you would give up what could be one _good_ month- because _I’m a fool_?”

She did not flinch.

The tip of her blade, however, did waver as he approached. She did not look away. She did not close her eyes.

She said, simply,

"Yes."

He finally understood - or at least, could have, if he had wanted to. She wasn't worth his hospitality except by virtue of her position. That was obvious. Clear. Indisputable. _And yet_ he persisted in treating her like a decent, redeemable human being, even when that treatment would have led to his loss of the people's good will. He was a fool.

She wasn't worth any of that.

Perhaps he needed to hear that part, to understand _why_ he was a fool. She, too, took a step forward, a careful shifting step that left her left foot still leading.

"And because I am the last surviving horror of the Blight."

He shook his head, took another step towards her.

“Bullshit.

“You wallow in your guilt. You let it eat away at you while the rest of us are trying to move on. You want to do everyone a favor? _Live your life_.”

He took another step as his fists unballed, pressing into his thighs.

“When I said, I hadn’t forgotten, I didn’t lie. I didn’t misspeak. I have to think about what happened here every day. But the truth is that I don’t blame you. There’s no point to it. I blame that...”

He swallowed and then more softly added, “I blame the war. I blame the Blight. Power. Politics. And that damned archdemon.” He gestured with the low wave of a hand, “Take you pick. Pick them all. But whatever it is you’re holding on to? That’s on you.”

Cauthrien flinched. She flinched visibly, even through all her armor, fighting to keep her gaze fixed on him while all she wanted to do was turn away from him.

She turned her blade away from him instead.

 _No_ , she thought. _No, I'm the last monster of the Blight, the last abomination. I can run this man through. I can watch him die._

She took a step back.

"I am a farmer's daughter," she said, quietly. "Still half-illiterate. And yet I have killed hundreds in this bannorn alone by burning crops. By using what I learned from my father to wreak devastation across half the country. _I_ called the retreat at Ostagar. _I_ stood by and allowed all the horrors of the war. And when I finally began to see-

"When I started to understand just how far we had all fallen-

"When I could have exposed how we brought in _Tevinter slavers-_

"When I _could have put a knife in his throat because I was the only one he still trusted-_ "

Her voice caught.

She looked away.

"The first time I faltered, he responded to every dream I'd had for seventeen years and I _could not go against him_."

Her hand tightened on the grip of her sword, a gift from him, a gift to win her back. She had never wanted to look at it that way, what he had done, that it had been calculated, that he was keeping his sword by giving a piece of metal to her.

"I should have died with the rest. And I'm just waiting until the Maker sees fit to rectify... me.

"So no, I will not let you throw your bannorn away on some flight of fancy or frustration with a woman - a _thing_ \- you barely know. Not when I'm half-convinced that I only remind you of your precious Lady Cousland."

She stared him down, willing him to look away, to flinch, to admit that yes, she was a mistake. Instead, he said two words that she had not expected and did not want to hear.

“Fuck Loghain.”

His hands fisted at his sides once again and his expression turned pained, furious.

“You didn’t die- because that man- that _traitor_ \- the Maker saw fit to give him a good and decent end after _everything_ he did. I was there and so were you. The Warden, she took him and she gave him something he didn’t deserve: a good death.

“And you?” He raised his eyebrows. “The Maker left you here. Loghain, he _used_ you. He took everything you could have been and knew you should have been, and he twisted it for his own purposes.

"You see that now, I think.

“Now, I don’t know what else the Maker sees fit for your life. But I know you’re not doing it justice.” He held her gaze, the muscles of his throat jumping in time with what she imagined had to be his pulse, hard and fast and as determined as he was.

She dropped her sword.

Just like that- it fell to the ground, as if it was the heaviest thing in the world, and she swallowed, trying to think. She tried to excuse everything Teagan had said- ignore it. Force it underground. Chew it, swallow it, destroy it with her body.

And when she couldn't, when _used you_ rang too clearly still, she stepped that last little bit of distance between them and backhanded him, metal on skin. He would bruise, bleed, maybe even break. But it was not a fist, and it was not a blade to his gut, and when it was done, her vision blurred and she let her head drop forward.

 _I only wanted to protect Ferelden._

She had torn it apart, instead, but those words- _everything you could have been... twisted for his own purposes._ They echoed too clear and loud for her to ignore, and it became harder and harder to bear her failure as anger towards herself.

"Why are you here?" she got out, voice flat, barely a whisper, cracking on the edges with the building pressure of tears behind her eyes.

He had his own eyes closed and she watched as he raised a hand to his cheek, tenderly. Her breathing sounded ragged in her ears, her pulse thundering. Her hands trembled.

“I- well- I-" He faltered, paused, took a deep breath and opened his eyes to look upon her. "... I said that if you chose to go, I was going to follow you. I came for you.”

"You're a fool," she repeated, weakly.

She had been bleeding out internally for eight months over the wreckage of her country, and it was too late for a tourniquet, too late for a healer. Bann Teagan Guerrin was not that healer, and yet his words had slowed the bleeding just a little. His touch, his laugh, his patience- those had made parts of her twitch and stir in response that she had thought lost. She didn't want to think about it.

She tried not to think about it.

And she succeeded for one triumphant moment before she stepped forward, grabbed the front of his doublet, and pulled him in to kiss him, hard, all heat and teeth and desperation.

“ _Ow_!” He pulled his head back, and then gently tried to push her away. She didn't let him.

“Typically, I think women are supposed kiss a man- and _then_ slap him. Makes the kissing easier," he muttered, a weak sort of chuckle escaping his lips, and the look he gave her- it seemed hopeful, despite the pain he was in.

She pushed him to the ground, straddling him.

"If you came for me- if you _want_ me- then this is what you get," she muttered, voice dark, pained. She reached up to pull her helm off, cast it aside.

But when she gripped the back of his head in her hand and pressed her lips to his once more, it was gentle. Soft. It was the way he had kissed her the night before. Her tongue swept only lightly over his lower lip, and then she pulled away to press feathery kisses to the part of his face that was beginning to swell. She closed her eyes and tried not to shake.

This man-

What did he do to her?

He smiled as he pulled away from her just the space of a breath, laughing. “I did say such a thing, didn’t I? And when I can use my lips again, I plan to show you properly.”

She felt the faint pressure of his hand settling on her armored thigh and she smiled, a tiny, lopsided, strained thing. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his where her gauntlet had not connected and took a deep breath.

A month.

A month with a man who was determined to put her back together, and while she still wasn't completely convinced that it could or should be done- Maker, he almost made her want to try. She opened her eyes, watched him a moment, and then brought her lips to his ear.

"Be quiet," she muttered. "... Bann Disappointment."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teagan brings Cauthrien back. Cauthrien proposes discretion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: None

They were just over halfway back to town when the sun rose to its zenith and Cauthrien pulled up. The ride back hadn't been nearly as frantic as the ride out, and she had spent most of it quiet. They stopped in a small field with uncultivated, calf-high grasses and a few trees to provide shade.

When she dropped from her garron's saddle, she immediately began undoing the buckles and laces that kept her plate in place. First off were her gauntlets and helm, then greaves and cloak, and then she began working at her breastplate. She didn't look over to him.

After those impulsive kisses, she'd retreated again, but it seemed to be a thoughtful retreat - nowhere near the sulking fury of before.

He had tried to think about their conversation as they rode back. Grateful as he was for the time to think, he was eager to get home- and not just to put something on his face to start the healing. He watched her with quick, nervous glances to assess her state of mind. He was _mostly_ sure that she wasn’t in attack mode anymore, and that this Cauthrien was just... thoughtful.

"I'm guessing," she said, frowning and tugging at a stubborn strap, "that you didn't bring food or water."

Even though it hurt still, he smiled a bit at her question. “I was in a bit of a hurry.” _See, I met this woman..._

She sighed and abandoned her armor for a moment, going back to the horse (Calenhad, she had called him on the ride back) to pull down a waterskin. She came close enough to hold it out to him and no closer.

"No excuse," she said, though there as a quirk of a smile at one corner of her mouth.

“Well, next time I plan to ride down after someone, I’ll make sure to grab food and water before I leave.” He shrugged, not reaching out for the skin just yet. Instead, he touched his face tenderly, trying to feel at the swollen bits to see how much they hurt to the touch, how much it might swell.

It was going to be hard to explain, the bruise that would be left behind, or the scar- he couldn’t tell for sure if she’d broken skin since it all hurt to touch. If she had, he couldn't feel blood yet.

“Still, we’re not that far from the house that we can’t go without a little longer.”

"We'll survive, yes," she said, then grimaced as she looked closely at his face. Carefully, she uncapped the waterskin, poured some water into her hand and stepped close enough that she could let the cool liquid trickle over the worst of it.

"It seemed like a better idea than punching you, at the time," she apologized.

The water did feel good on his skin, still warm with pain. He winced as it stung a few places and guessed the skin had broken after all.

“I appreciate your restraint.”

He lifted his hand again to reach for her, but hesitated, unsure where exactly he might do so. He settled for cupping his palm around her cheek, fingertips grazing her ear.

She blushed, and after a moment's pause, pressed a little more firmly with her fingers to clean off the grit that had been in her gauntlets and had ended up embedded in his skin, little sliding motions. Her other hand rose to touch his. She focused on her work, though, not looking him in the eye.

"I could have killed you."

“Could have, but didn’t.”

Maker- but he had no idea what possessed him to ride out after her. He only knew that at the time, he had felt that it needed to be done, that someone - and no one else would - needed to help her see reason. Help her understand that he wanted her to stay. Still, he wasn’t sure why he wanted to.

But he did.

He shook his head. “And I’m grateful you didn’t.” He remembered the look on her face when she had dropped the sword completely. It was a look he never wanted to see again.

She let her hands drop and bit at her bottom lip. "... Didn't, and couldn't," she said, quietly, and then turned away to finish unbuckling her armor.

His hand hung in mid-air. Swallowing hard, he let it drop and watched her finish removing her armor. She was still adjusting to whatever had happened, whatever he had said that had finally reached her.

He wanted to reiterate that it was a good thing. That he was glad, not only to not have been run through with her sword, but that she hadn’t lunged at him on sight- or when he said he wasn’t leaving, or when he said _Fuck Loghain_. He was pretty sure that all of that was what had earned him the slap- and it could have been much worse.

 _Hurt me_. She had asked him last night and he had refused. It wasn’t- she wasn’t-

“Cauthrien,” he said slowly. It wasn’t a question, but a statement of intent. Of peace.

He did not move towards her, though he wanted to; hands flexed at his sides, wanting to touch her. But he watched her instead, waited to see if she would turn around, unsure what he would do if she did.

"I don't know who I am, anymore," she said, as she let the last of her armor fall to the grass.

She turned to face him again.

He gave her a small, sad smile. He already knew that; had suspected that she had been working on that when he had found her drinking in the kitchen, drowning in guilt and in alcohol.  It didn’t take much to close the distance between them and he sidestepped her armor as he approached. He put his hand back to her face, stroked his thumb across her cheek.

“I’m here,” he said. It wasn’t an acknowledgement of her statement, not really. He couldn’t help her figure that out. He could, however, support her while she worked through it and even found that he wanted to. Maybe that was what he had seen earlier, what had scared her so much.

It wasn’t that he wanted to fix her. He just wanted to be around to see her try to fix herself.

"You're one of the last people in Thedas who should give a damn about what happens to me," she said, and there was no anger there- confusion and sadness, yes, but no anger, and she leaned into his touch.

“Maybe that’s true.” He let his hand slide a bit further, his fingertips curling into her hair. “But the Maker seems to have a good sense of humor.” With a chuckle and a wince when it hurt, he continued, “And I seem to be at peace with that.”

He hoped she could be too. And the way she leaned into his hand was an indication, small and tentative as it was, that maybe she did.

For a brief moment, she stayed there, eyes lowered and skin pressed against his, but then she fell forward slightly as Calenhad came close and bumped his head against her arm. With an unsteady smile, she pulled away. She didn't go far, though, only to her horse's side and where she had dropped the waterskin. She offered to him once more as she fished in her saddlebag for something.

"You do need to actually drink this," she said as that thin smile made another elusive appearance. "Do not make me force you."

Her hand stilled and she winced, hearing her own words. "Maker," she muttered, tossing the waterskin to him and resuming with more intensity her search, finally pulling out an apple and offering it to Calenhad. He accepted the gift with all the slow dignity of a monarch and then turned his attention away from them.

Teagan, unsure of what to say, uncapped and took a few long drinks from the skin, flinching only slightly at the way his jaw had to work. He watched her, resting her forehead against her garron's neck. Her chest rose and fell with a few deep breaths before she turned back to him once more.

"Before we return, we need to discuss what... what we're doing," she said, voice quiet but firm.

He didn’t cross the space between them. It was like a dance, he thought, this push and pull- this delicate balance between her guilt and his-

Duty. She was right, when people learned of them (and he guessed it wouldn’t take long after last night) word would get around. The people, they might- _would_ not understand. But he had said it to her before. _I’m not doing this for my people._

He nodded. “If you want... we can talk.”

She watched him, quiet for a long moment, and then, "I'm no stranger to discretion. Even though I know last night, you said that you didn't care what your people would think- _I_ care. I won't let a month ruin you. I can't add that to my conscience."

She would stay. She would keep it a secret, if he asked her to. And some part of him, the part that remembered duty and honor and nobility, wanted to ask her to.  The rest of him wondered if she was still running, or if this thing she asked was some atonement - a denial of herself, of her own feelings.  

Or if it was him - them - that she was still running from.

“Where would that leave you? In hiding?” His eyes narrowed and he ignored that part of him that wanted discretion. The rest of him was committed to seeing this through, whether it was only a month-

And if it could be something more than that.

“You may have an already full conscience. I don’t mean or want to add to that. But I-” He shifted his weight and crossed his arms across his chest. “I also don’t want you to deny yourself. I want you to-”

He took several deep breaths, even closed his eyes a moment to regain his composure, and control over his tongue before it frustrated him more.

“I didn’t say that I didn’t care what they thought. They’re my people, of course I care. But this...” He raised a hand, gestured to both of them, the horse, the field. “This isn’t for them. This is what I want.”

She stood quiet and still. She listened, even as her mouth twitched with the repressed urge to say something, something no doubt about politics and nobility and duty.

"So you would make me bring even more harm to your bannorn, for a month of pleasure?" she asked finally, quietly. "When last night you wouldn't hurt me when I asked? You can't have me and not destroy something in the process."

“It doesn't have to be either-or, Cauthrien. It doesn't have to hurt.”

He wouldn’t force her to hide anything. It felt too much like doing what Loghain had done to her. Teagan wasn’t a forceful man. Manipulative, he thought. Political, yes. He had gone and stood before Loghain, had riled the forces of the bannorn against him- against her, if she wanted to think of it that way.

He didn’t.

“I’m telling you what I want. You think I’m not paying attention to what the political ramifications could be. But just a few hours ago, I think I explained pretty clearly what I think about you, about the war. I want to live the life I have left after the Blight. I want to move past it.”

She wallowed in the past, was content with whatever fate meant she could stay there. He was offering her something better than that, knowing what the consequences could be.

He shrugged. “And I think you’ve been hurt enough.”

She bowed her head, hand still resting on Calenhad's shoulder. The muscles of her jaw and throat tightened. "... Before him," she said, not looking up, "I was celibate for eighteen years. I have no idea what I'm doing with you when it's private. If it were public-"

“Then we go slow.”

He took the few steps between them and reached a hand up to her arm.

“We don’t have to be blatant about it- but I don’t intend to run around stealing moments in the shadows either. That does neither of us any favors.” He let out a low quiet grunt that might have been laughter or resignation; even he wasn't sure anymore. “We go back, we pretend this little early morning horse ride didn’t happen. Nothing for anyone to worry about.”

He swallowed and touched her chin, tilting her head up so that he could meet her gaze. “I don’t intend on throwing any parties or hosting anyone else for the next month. So you and I, we have time to figure out what works. If that’s quiet nights alone, so be it. If that’s quiet nights together, even better.

“But, _we_ figure this out together, and work with what’s comfortable, public or no.”

"Why?" She swallowed, pulling away and looking down to the grass beneath them. "Why me?"

He hesitated.

If he really knew the answer to that question, maybe he wouldn't have have come after her. He hadn’t tried to deny that they were entering a potentially- and entirely likely- political storm when or if people found out about them, if there was a _them_ to find out about.

But she didn’t just want to know why he wanted her. He remembered what she had asked him before, and how he had skirted it. Well, twice now, hadn’t he?

“Because.”

He had been straightforward about his interest in the Warden-Commander, and if asked, yes- one night with Cauthrien wouldn’t erase all the communication he had shared with the Lady Cousland. It couldn’t undo the regret he felt at not making his intentions clear before she had been assigned at Amaranthine. Still, when he looked at Cauthrien, he didn’t see the Warden. He saw a woman that he wanted, because she was strong, and beautiful, and Maker help him- just because.

He didn't expect any response except perhaps frustration, perhaps another aching strike to the face. But neither happened.

Instead, she smiled, that weak and uncertain twitching of her lips.

"So this isn't just an elaborate ploy to convince me that no, you're really not with the Lady Cousland?" It was a joke. A quiet, faint joke, but her smile strengthened a little. "'No, Anora, Bann Disapointment can't be with the Warden-Commander - he's right here in bed with me while I write this report'. Not that?"

He liked that smile. He liked it even more when it was accompanied by a bit of wit. He laughed despite the pain it caused, grinned broadly and shrugged.

“I did promise you a plot of some sort, didn’t I? If you want to put it in your report- so be it.”

But no. It wasn’t a ploy, a trick. He shook his head and more softly added, “But no, that's not it.”

She stepped close enough to touch his shoulder. "I told you, the queen prefers Antivan murder mysteries. They tend to end, from what I understand, with everybody in bed with everybody else, but somebody has to die first," she said, voice equally soft. Amused, gentle, a little nervous.

"... I probably should inform her, though. She may still summon me back to Denerim."

“Well, she'll at least be surprised- or maybe pleased. She’s a sly one, our Queen.” Until then, they had some time. From her touch, the concern, he knew that she wasn’t running now. She was nearly... hopeful. His smile remained in place.

“So, about that bed thing? I would really like one right now.”

"Well, I'd better put myself back together, then," she muttered, smirking, and then let go of him and reached for her armor. She paused, likely considering donning it all again- and then moved to bundle it up and strap it to Calenhad.

"I'd offer to let you sit in front of me and sleep on the way back to your estate, but I'm not sure I want your seneschal questioning what happened to get you like that." She tugged the last strap into place, gathered up her waterskin and settled that, and then swung up onto her garron.

“No, no, I can ride. I just want to lay down for a bit.”

He waited until she had put everything back together before he got moving. He was tired, yes, after a short night and bad dreams, and a hard ride to catch up with her, to bring her back to him.

“I’ll have enough to explain when he sees my face, as it is," he laughed as he walked back over to his own horse and mounted up.

"... That's- yes, you will." She frowned. "Perhaps you should ride on my horse. Trussed up. We can just say we had a disagreement and I won."

Even though it had, quite clearly, been the other way around.

**\--**

When they got back to the estate, Teagan let someone else take care of his horse and wandered inside. As he passed her in the stables, he murmured softly so nobody else could hear, “I might not be much company, but you’re welcome to find me when you’re done here.”

She remained down with Calenhad for quite some time after that, despite - or perhaps because of - the invitation. She brushed him until his coat gleamed, made sure he had enough oats. She even found another apple for him. The number of times she apologized to him for the pointless flight-

Well, she wouldn't admit that to anybody.

Once she was done, she took her things back to the room Teagan had given her. It was as empty as when she had arrived the other day, and for a long moment she simply stood in the door. But then she swung her pack from her shoulder, set her armor on its rack, put aside the Summer Sword. It felt strange to hold it, in the wake of Teagan's comment.

She put it in a corner.

Part of her was ready to go and find Teagan. She tried to convince herself, instead, that she should work off her lingering frustration with exercise, practice, sparring if she could get it. But there was surprisingly little frustration left and soon she found herself asking after poultice, taking a small jar of it to his room.

Finding it was tricky, when she was unwilling to ask - nobody needed to know where she was going. Hoping there were no servants nearby or inside, she came to the door of his chambers and knocked.

She had to wait almost too long, her heart beginning to beat out of her chest with nerves. She glanced around, anxious. Her own thoughts, though they tended pleasant, were still wound up from the confrontation, from his declarations on the way back. _Make this work_. And hers, _discretion._

She wanted this, had realized riding out underneath the sun that she wanted it more than she had realized, but it was frightening.

And then he opened the door and moved to the side to let her in, without a word. He looked exhausted and rumpled but he had a small smile for her. Her worries fell away for at least that brief moment.

She stepped in, holding up the little jar. "Thought I'd try and fix the damage I did," she said, lips quirking; she was more than aware of the rather metaphorical weight of the words. "If you haven't had it seen to already, that is."

She glanced around the room, then back to him, her expression turning from wry to a little sheepish. With her free hand, she rubbed at the back of her neck. Her adrenaline was finally beginning to wear off, and Maker, she was tired, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep. Given that he seemed particularly awake despite the weary set of his shoulders, she assumed the same of him.

“No, not yet,” he said, backing into the room. He let the door swing shut once she was inside and walked back over to his bed, sitting down. “I couldn’t sleep. I was just about to head out to get it looked at.” He gave a small chuckle and added, “Seems you beat me to it.”

She nodded, then followed him and sat down next to him, perched on the very edge of the mattress. She undid the top of the jar, and considered just passing it to him, letting him take care of it. She was no healer.

But she'd done this.

She dipped two fingers into the paste of fragrant elfroot. Gently, she leaned in and pressed it to the worst of the cuts, her other hand pushing his hair out of the way.

"I couldn't sleep, either. Not that I really tried." She kept her gaze focused on her work. "I'm settled back in, though."

“Glad to hear it. I assume no one said anything to you?”

He winced at her touch, the paste against his cuts, but otherwise sat admirably still. He swallowed and didn't seem to know where to look - either straight ahead, into the middle distance, or to her, leaning close to him, taking care of him.

He settled on watching her and smiled, though the motion made him grimace again.

Softly, he murmured. “Thank you.”

She met his gaze for a moment, mind running over with _I owe this to you. I need to fix this. I-_

"You're welcome," she said said instead, finding a smile in return, before she moved. She left the bed to kneel in front of him. It was an easier angle to work from, and her fingers left his face only to scoop up more paste.

"And no, nobody has said anything. Mostly because I've been avoiding all of them. Did you tell anybody where you were going this morning? ... Where I went?"

“No, I- I did ask after you. But I did neglect to mention where I was going. I’m sure that had people in a panic.” He shrugged. “But it’s better now.” With a gentle touch, he laid his hand on Cauthrien’s shoulder, steadying. “They can wait. Some of them have seen at least one if not both of us, and...”

He shrugged, smiled, leaned forward a little more to tug on her shoulder. He let his hand slid down her arm, wrapping it around her wrist. When he used his other hand to push himself further back onto the bed, she rose up to follow him.

She was already done applying the poultice and she murmured, "Hold on, hold on," reaching for the jar to wipe the excess off her fingers and then cap it. She set it down on the ground and toed off her boots. Then she realized she was letting him pull her to bed.

He was tired, and so was she, and at the moment, his room was the best hiding place they both had. She crawled onto the bed after him, sending him a questioning, shy little smile.

"Think you can sleep now?" she asked, reaching back to let her hair down.

With a nod and a yet stronger smile, he said, “Yes, I think this will help.”

When she was settled next to him, he reached a hand up to stroke her cheek, then her hair. It was light, just a faint touch, but it was soothing all the same. He put his head down and wrapped his other arm around her.

Lying beside him, settling her weight against his, was different from how it had felt to let Loghain pull her close, bury his face against her hair, her breast, and attempt to sleep.

It was-

Warm. Companionable. Strangely pleasant. She was tense at first, when he trailed his fingers across her cheek, but by the time he draped his arm over her, she was sinking into the mattress, stifling a yawn with one hand. She blinked blearily at him, snuggling down down against her pillow. Sleep was close at hand.

**\--**

He remembered smiling at her and then mumbling something about wine, just as he fell asleep. She was still there, warm against him when he woke, even if he smelled of elfroot and both of them were fully clothed. It was... comfortable.

Realizing it was nearly dark, he blinked a few times. He was careful not to move too much as he stirred, enjoying the moment.

After another, though, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. She didn't stir at all, and he smiled down at her. The pain in his face had lessened noticeably, though he could still feel a thick tightness when he tried to move.

Slowly, he tried to lift his arms away from her and then work himself out of the bed.

The kiss may not have roused her, but his movement seemed to trigger her training. She sat up quickly, looking around-

And then she laughed dryly and Teagan let out a relieved breath.

She ran a hand through her hair before swinging her legs over the side. "How late is it?"

He shrugged, looked to his window. “I’m not sure- looks like dinner time?” His stomach rumbled and he smiled. “Feels like dinner time at least.”

With a few small motions he smoothed down his clothes, ran his fingers through his hair a few times and brought both hands across his chin. It was less conscious and more habit as he ran his hand along his beard a second time, though he couldn't help but smile as he noticed her watching him.

“Feel up to joining me for dinner? You don’t have to sit close, if you don’t want to,” he asked, letting his hands drop and rising to his feet.

"Well, if it's like last night and nobody else is there, it will look even more conspicuous if we sit apart." She tugged her sleep-rumpled arming jacket down and began pulling her hair back. "No need to fuel rumors of a lover's spat if we don't have to.

"But yes, I'll join you."

He shook his head, thinking he had only meant to give her a more comfortable appearance in front of the rest of the house. But, yes, he agreed and was pleased to know she would be close. Now, if only she would have left her hair down- he shoved the thought aside.

As he walked by, he grabbed at her hand, and gave it a quick kiss. He didn’t let go of her hand but gave a little tug, for her to follow. “Well, we should see what there is to eat then.”

She tried to wiggle her fingers free of his as she began walking behind him. "Discretion," she reminded him as she reached the door and managed to take her hand back with another tug.

He thought about grabbing her hand again but he resisted.

“Right,” he nodded. “Discretion.”

He opened the door and led the way down to the dining hall, led her to the table. While Cauthrien sat, he went to check on dinner. It was close to being done, and when he came back, he smiled, doing his best not to wince, his cheek twinging.

Taking a seat, he looked over at her again, sitting with her elbow propped onto the table. She seemed lost in thought, and he hesitated before interrupting. “Dinner will be ready soon. After... do you still want my help? With your spelling I mean?”

She looked up. "Oh, good. And I- sure, yes. Hopefully we'll get more done than we did last night." Cauthrien looked almost sheepish.

She also looked a little lost, a little out of her element. He guessed that it had something to do with the idea that they had sat here the night before under very different circumstances. Right now, he felt like they had less to talk about than they had before. It was, odd, but not completely uncomfortable. Even if they sat there without a word while they waited for dinner to arrive, he would still enjoy her company.

She frowned.  "Damn. I forgot to mail out the report when we got back from our excursion."

It wasn't the worst thing she could have thought of, and it did remind him of something that had been bouncing around in his head since she had said it this morning.

“Will you change your report? Put this - us - in it?”

She considered, shifting slightly and leaning back. "Not yet. That is- I won't amend the one I've already written. But she should be informed." Another pause, and Cauthrien shook her head. "Then again, she didn't know about my involvement with her father, and that seems to have done her good."

“I trust your judgement on when or if, she learns of it then.”

"If it ever directly affects my investigation, I'll let her know."

Cauthrien fell quiet again as dinner was brought in. As he ate, thought about what she said. That, she wasn’t going to tell Anora - well, he supposed she might - but not now. Not right now.

Eventually, he thought, if they carried on in public, Anora was going to figure it out. But the time they had without that pressure, before she learned it on her own or Cauthrien chose to tell here - he was happy for it. It wasn’t that he didn’t mean what he had said to her, he did. But he did have to acknowledge that what they had done- were doing, was complicated, and not just for the two of them.

"Speaking of," she said, finally, "you still owe me that plot, to keep her entertained while reading my reports. I don't think tales of your listening to the complaints and petitions of your freeholders will entertain her, since she gets to do that all day back in Denerim. As it is, I don't think that I'm imaginative enough to write something interesting enough for her, poorly spelled or not."

“Oh, a plot. Right.” He tapped a hand on the table. “I do, I’m just not sure what might her hold her attention for a month.” _Or more._

She had said imaginative- Anora would enjoy something with a bit of exaggeration, a bit of drama, even if it wasn’t the drama of her Ser Cauthrien and himself.

“Do you think she would go for a murder mystery? Something like in her Antivan stories? I’m sure we could come up with something...”

She snorted, smiled a bit over the top of her glass of wine.

"I've been thinking about something like that. I wouldn't be able to plot one of my own, though. I've never... read the things."

He watched her over his dinner - which he was putting away with a rapid pace - and couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t think he would say it to her face but there was something about this more relaxed and calm Cauthrien that he found sweet. He had thought her endearing the night before, that pained and guilty Cauthrien that had thought so little of herself. This was similar but without the sadness that had also made him uneasy.

There was a new part of her to watch now and he was glad he got to see it.

“I can’t say I’ve ever had need to read an Antivan murder mystery, but I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll be able to figure something out.” With another grin, he added, “Maybe even something with a little romance. Though... it doesn’t have to be ours.”

She colored a bit and tried to cover it by bowing her head to bring a spoonful of stew to her lips. "Well, we cannot make the reports entirely fictional. She enjoys novels; that doesn't make her foolish. From what I understand, though, the Antivan murder mysteries often include romance.

"But not until at least halfway. It might be a good way to bring up the topic of... us. With her. If by that point it still needs to be brought up."

“Of course not,” he said, ignoring the way she’d averted her eyes at the mention of romance.

She nodded, continuing to eat. She had barely eaten before leaving in the morning, and, like him, had no trouble finishing off a prodigious amount of food.

He tried to think of everything that would be necessary of a good story - part truth, part fiction and some way to make it all interesting enough to keep Anora from calling Cauthrien home immediately.

When she finally sat back, she nursed her wine glass, taking only small sips. And she smiled.

"So. The spelling lesson?" she asked.

With a laugh, one that hurt less and less now - thanks to her early ministrations, he stood up and moved back from his seat.

“Right, spelling lessons.”

He looked thoughtfully down the hall where his office would be, then back to Cauthrien and quirked an eyebrow. After a moment he opened his mouth to say something else, then closed it and pursed his lips together.

Well, he could be an adult about it. He wouldn’t look at his desk and think about what she had looked like on it and would try very hard to focus on spelling. Resolved to it, he nodded and waved a hand towards the hallway.

And then he tried very hard not to smile as he said, “To my office then?”

**\--**

_Where we will be discreet. And behave._

She rose with a nod, set down her glass (only half finished), and came over to him.

She hadn't missed his hesitation or the barest edge of a smile, and knew that there was still a decent chance that spelling was never going to be the first thing on either of their minds that night. When she'd suggested the lesson, the thought had been accompanied by memories of his desk, of his lips, and barely any words at all.

Still, she would try. She had shown him how embarrassingly bad her spelling was, he had offered to help, and Maker keep her, she would learn.  Even if it meant hitting him again (though this time, she'd make sure she was unarmed and avoided his face. She felt a twinge of guilt every time she looked at him), she would persevere.

He led her down the hall and she followed, watched as he opened the door and then, once they were inside, hesitated to close it. He left it open. It was probably for the best.

“So,” he started, walking over to his chair, back on the other side of his desk, “where would you like to start? Do you have specific questions, or shall I just find a place for us to begin?”

She settled into the chair she had been in last night and tried not to remember how her clothing had looked pooled on the floor by his desk.

"I have no idea," she said, shaking her head. "The way I learned Orlesian- it was... very study-intensive. Lots of reading, practicing. Drilling, almost. But Orlesian at least has _rules_. Those I can learn. Common..." She frowned.

"I have no idea where to start. I never have."

“It’s true, what rules we do have, we most often break. So, a few simple things, then, to get us started tonight?”

He sat down and brought some fresh parchment on to his desk. As he slid it over to her, he kept his eyes level, though she saw him once or twice glance to the corner she had sat on, then laid on. She heard him take a deep breath, force a smile.

“First, some simple words that are confusing on their own. Like the word ‘to’.”

"There's more than one of them," she said, remembering reading his corrected draft. She sat forward. It was easier for her to ignore what had gone between them just the previous night with her mind set on the task before her. It wasn't a pleasant one.

Oddly, that helped. But her expression did turn grim and focused.

"How many, total?"

“Three - if you count the number, ‘two’. And it’s easy enough to remember the last one, because it only has an extra ‘o’ and you use it when you mean it to say, ‘also’.”

He wrote the different words out for her on the parchment, and then wrote out several other often misspelled words that had similar meanings. It wasn’t about repetition, but the different reasons she would need to use them. She was intent on learning, so time passed quickly as he explained the words to her.

After an hour or so, he went to his bookshelf and grabbed a book.

“Here,” he said as he offered it out to her. _The History of Rainesfere_. “I can’t promise it’s a riveting story, but reading does help. You can see the words more often, and how they’re used. That’s as good a place to start as any.”

"The amount of Orlesian poetry I had to read," she said with a wry smile, taking the tome, "makes anything more appealing."

She had shifted forward while he worked, taking a quill and copying out the word variants as he wrote them, making notes to herself (in misspelled shorthand). Now, she sat back and pulled one long leg up into the chair with her, using it to rest the book against as she opened it.

"At least during a lesson."

The book itself was less than interesting, speaking absolutely, but she was willing to push through something repetitive, dry, or boring. It was like drills (though drills were fun and at least active). She didn't look forward to the practice, but she had done it once before at Loghain's orders.

She could do it again with Teagan's encouragement.

Cauthrien read about ten pages before looking up to him, to find him leaning against his desk, his eyes fixed on her, his lips quirked into a small smile.

Right. Still there, still in his office, and now he had nothing better to do than- than- watch her? Maker, he was watching her read. She blushed. "I can do this on my own time. You shouldn't have to sit there," she said, reaching up to pull out the strap that held up her hair so she could use it as a bookmark. She didn't want to damage the page by laying her hand on it. That, at least, Anora had drilled into her - back when she was young and Anora barely a woman.

He gave her a soft smile. “I actually find I enjoy watching you read,” he said.

Something stirred in Cauthrien, warm and tempting, and she almost too-quickly rose from her chair, closing the book. "Maybe so," she said, stepping closer to take her notes from his desk, "but I wouldn't want to keep you from something more productive. Or from sleep, for that matter."

But their nap had been long and restful, and even she knew that last was just an excuse. It was just a little too striking, being alone in a room with him, in quiet companionship.

“If you were keeping me from something more pressing,” he said and raised a hand, placing it on her forearm, “I would have made my own excuses by now.”

"I- this just... reminds me of when I was learning Orlesian. It's..."

 _Related to Loghain. Still painful._ Slowly, though, she sat back down. She remembered that sweet, slow kiss from the night before - how she had compared that too, to what Loghain had done.

But now that sweet, slow kiss was associated firmly with the man across from her. She could replace those old memories. She had never thought she would want to replace any of Loghain, but after that day... after that day, she was more than willing.

"Intimate," she said, after a too-long pause while she collected herself and toed her boots off.

“I- That is not-” He sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. His tone was heavy and he met her eyes, letting go of her arm, pressing his palm to his desk behind him.

"It's okay. Just... strange." She was surprised by his tone, his apology, and she didn't move yet to open the book again. She watched him instead, fingers drumming along the cover.

"It was a good time. Strange, unsettling, but... good. It's hard to think about, but-"

She was actually saying this out loud? Articulating herself? It made her look sheepish, bashful for a moment, and she glanced away. It took her a moment to add, "But maybe it's a good thing, having new memories to supersede the old. Last night-"

Cauthrien colored brightly while trying to find the words- and then the courage to say them. It was hard. She didn't talk about these things, ever. They weren't a part of her. She wasn't as comfortable with them, beyond the physical struggle of it all.

"... Last night," she finally said, under the weight of his gaze and the small smile creeping across his face, "I- there was a moment- you kissed me the way he did, before he left for Redcliffe with the Warden-Commander." Her throat tightened at the memory; but she recalled the kiss, and it was Teagan, and she relaxed. "... now that sort of kiss makes me think of you. Not that day. It's- better. It frightened me, though."

“I- think I understand.” His smile faltered. “Are you- do you feel-,” he sighed. “Would it be better, elsewhere?”

"For- the lessons?" She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No, it's more the act. The- companionship, and the drilling. It will just take some getting used to. It was over ten years ago, though. It shouldn't be too hard.

"Unless _you_ want to move?"

Really, anywhere they went, it would remind her. It was the exposure that would help replace it, the learning and _knowing_ that Teagan was not Loghain, that things were different, that this was not the hard and brutal training that had taught her a language she had no interest in learning. She wanted this - more than she had realized.

Maker, to be fluent, literate in Orlesian and not her native tongue- that had to be fixed.

"You don't need to be gentle with me," she said, shrugging and offering him a small smile. "I will tell you if it's too much, if I don't run first. But if I run... I won't run far." She didn't really want to run, not after that morning. She didn't want to feel like that ever again - like she had when she had heard her name, like she had when he had come close enough and she had relived the memory of disemboweling a man, realizing just what she had threatened him with.

“Here is fine for the lessons,” Teagan said, pulling her back to him.

He paused and pursed his lips for a moment before pushing himself away from the desk. He didn’t move any farther than that but his hands were strained from holding on to it. He flexed his fingers a little to work them out.

“As for-” He turned and looked at the desk. It was just a quick glance but she could read it easily. “... the rest of last night?” When he looked back to her, he did so with his teeth nervously biting at the inside corner of his bottom lip.

She shifted in her seat, remembering being sprawled, if only for a short period, across his desk.

"I... don't have a preference as to location, as long as it's discreet," she said, blushing and licking at her lips absently. "There's not a lot in how you-" _feel_ \- "act that's like... him." Maker. Were they talking about _this_ part out loud now? "... You're- gentler." _You hold me. You_ \- "It's very different."

“Good,” he said.

“So, _with discretion_ , Ser Cauthrien,” he leaned forward and grabbed for her hand. He bent down and kissed it, like one might the hand of a noblewoman. “I would like to ask you to join me... in my chambers.” He smiled and added, “We can even walk there separately, if it would please you.”

She blushed like a Chantry sister.

She hadn't expected him to want her again, not so quickly, not while his face was still on the swollen side and the memory of her about to run him through was still bright and clear in at least her mind. She certainly hadn't expected him to be so _forward_ about it - but then again, they'd seemed to cross the line into honesty about the time when he told her he wanted her to stay for more than just spelling lessons.

And he _had_ actually done some teaching first this time.

Cauthrien pursed her lips, thinking, remembering how she'd felt like breaking the night before, how it had been his gentleness that had made her run - but he had brought her back. Maker help her, she had never stopped wanting him, even when she had fled at dawn.

"I'll be there in a bit," she said, finally, smiling just a little.

He let out a sharp laugh, smiled and then sighed with relief.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said.

With a nod to her, he started to leave the room. But, as he passed her chair, he turned and placed a kiss on the top of her head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teagan and Cauthrien practice their agreed upon discretion, spar with weapons (instead of words), and begin an investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: M  
> Chapter Warnings: Violence

It was late evening and all the petitioners had gone home for the day, and _she_ was still in his office. There wasn't anything else to keep him.

There was a giddy feeling in him about it all: the nearly dying, the gauntleted slap to his face (which had nearly healed), their quiet and simple afternoon nap, and now the possibility of another night - a better night, perhaps the whole night - together. Once in his room, he slid his shoes off and stood nervously by the door, then by the bed. He wondered how long she would wait to join him, how he might greet her, and whether or not he was doing a good thing by initiating this so soon. But he wanted it - wanted her - and felt that after their talk on their way back, he should be upfront about what he wanted, for his sake if not also hers.

While he waited, he fidgeted with his shoes, the coverlet on his bed, paperwork on his desk. And when he couldn’t decide what best to do with himself while he waited for her, he sat simply on the edge of the bed, hands folded in his lap, and watched the door. His mind raced and though he had been honest with her about everything, including what he wanted, in those silent moments alone, even he wondered at the wisdom of it all.

She kept him waiting, in the end, about twenty minutes. When she cracked open his door and slipped inside, the anxiety he felt while waiting for her receded. She was dressed down, arming jacket discarded, hair still loose, and she had the tiniest hint of a nervous smile. He stood and went to her and after making sure the door was shut securely, he greeted her with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

Parts of him were all-too-eager to simply pull her to the bed. He faced her and happy as he was to see her, took a moment to look at her: all pale skin, long limbs, strong arms. He reached for those arms, let his hands slide down them, and wrapped his fingers around her wrists.

“I’m glad you came.”

Her eyes had followed the path of his hands and at his words she shifted so that she could lightly take his hands in hers.

"I told you I would," she said quietly, with a glance up to him. "I just had to get a few things put away, first."

“I know you did,” he said as he lifted one of her hands and pressed it to his lips. “I’m glad all the same.”

He found that he had the ability to push away everything else. To watch her, and not to have his mind clouded by memories of the day. Instead, he saw a beautiful woman who had come to his room, to be with him, because he had asked- and, more importantly, because she wanted to. He lowered her hand slowly and licked his bottom lip.

“So...”

With a step, he turned, switching his hands so he could still hold hers as he faced the bed. Slowly, he started towards it, tugging gently at her. He didn't want to let go.

She made a breathy sound, a shy, soft laugh, and followed him. When they reached the bed, she tugged at his hand to turn him around again, so that she could lean in and kiss him. He let himself be turned, leaned in to her kiss and closed his eyes. It was sweet and soft and not unlike what they had shared before. Still, it felt different in that moment, in his bedroom, and he smiled into it.

His free hand went up to her jaw, thumb caressing her cheek. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but with them on nearly equal footing and height, it was easy, with less fumbling than he was used to with other women. He could reach for her and she was there.

He took a slow step back, his legs hitting the side of the bed. As he started to sit down, he pulled her with him, one hand on hers, the other still at her jaw. He sat, then slid back to make room for her. She kicked her boots off before following, then sank into another kiss. He let go of her hand, just so he could wrap both arms around her, slide them over her back, pull her close.

With a quick nip at her bottom lip, he parted his lips just enough- just to lick at hers. He slid a hand further up her back to her neck, to where her hair was loose around her face. He brushed some of it back and away from her face and cradled his hand against her jaw.

“Cauthrien.” It was just a statement, just at acknowledgement that she was here with him and wanted to be. He smiled and kissed her again.

She readily deepened the kiss, but it was still gentle - especially compared to how she had come to him the night before. It was slow, experimental, and she went from just responding or attacking to meeting him, trying new movements, feeling how he responded.

She touched her fingers to his jaw, holding him close for a moment, before she ran her hand down his front, finally settling on his hip, the touch sending a warm flush through him. She pulled away just enough to say in a rather wondering, amused tone of voice, "Teagan."

It was surprising but pleasant to hear her say his name, without his title and with what sounded like a kind of happiness in her voice - not the harshness that had accompanied it previously. It was enough to make him let out a soft sort of chuckle against her lips when she kissed him again, murmured it against his lips.

He tugged at her tunic playfully. He wasn’t in a hurry, but as he had the night before, he craved to touch her skin. And she obliged, sitting up and away from him. She tugged her tunic off before coming right back down to him, pressing kisses to his lips, his jawline. Her hands didn't go to the fasteners on his clothing yet, though - instead, she tried to get him to lie back.

He pulled her down with him as he let himself be pushed back on the bed, wondering at the warmth of skin under his hands. For all her will of steel, she was soft and smooth beneath his hands, her few scars more landmarks than any kind of blemish. When she came down next to him, he crooked his leg around hers, pulling her close, stretching so that his body stretched the length of hers. She tangled her legs with his, wrapped her arms around him, held him close.

With a soft caress, he brushed her hair completely away from a shoulder and his thumb found her collarbone, traced along it with a light touch, and she returned each touch with gentle, tasting kisses.

Her fingers teased up beneath his shirt, finding skin and fanning out to cover it, her palms pressing flat against his back. He squirmed a little under her playful touch. It was nice, this more relaxed version of her, of them. It was easy like this to forget who he was, who she was, and what impact the two of them together would have on anyone other than themselves. It made him want to stretch it out and make the moments as long as he could-

Even if the rest of him wanted to go faster, to work at his clothes, and the rest of hers. He pressed kisses into her shoulder, along her neck and cheeks whenever he could. His breathing was already shallow, needy and eager for more.

His free hand, slid further down her back, finding the edge of her leggings and teasing at it. They were light touches, finding places on her that he wanted to explore. She shifted at them, muscles flexing under his touch, and she pulled away just enough to slide her hands around to the front of him, begin to undo the toggles of his doublet, expose skin that she could dip her head to, kiss and nibble at. She rolled him onto his back so that she could straddle him, kneeling and bending forward.

Teagan tried to relax, to let her work at his clothes. She was taking charge but it was easy, gentle and he didn’t mind. But as he had the opportunity, he reached to the laces of her leggings to tug at them, to work at the edges- pushing and sliding his fingertips where he discovered gaps between them.

With her over him, he couldn’t hide that he was ready for her but he focused on her, letting her work at her own pace. Something had changed between the Cauthrien he had taken on his desk the previous night and the one that straddled him at that moment. It was an enticing change.

She pushed his shirt off his shoulders as best she could with him sprawled beneath her, then dropped her hands to his own pants. It was almost a race, and she looked up at him with a quirked brow, a quick, wicked little smile, her fingers working fast.

The smile she gave him was so different from what he had already seen from her. She was enjoying herself, enjoying playing at him- and it drew a chuckle from him as he watched her.

When she had the laces undone, she pushed both his pants and his smalls down, sliding her palms over the crest of his hips, then leaned down and pressed her lips to his once more. One of her hands stroked along his side, trailed over his stomach, brushed his erection.

He let out a small breath - nearly a moan - and convinced his hands to work more diligently at her the laces on her leggings. When he deemed them loose enough, he put his hands on her hips and tried to keep her still long enough to hook his thumbs in the waistband and push them down.

She rose up slightly, hands braced on either side of his waist, allowing him to push her clothing away. When it passed her knees, she knelt down again, kicked it the rest of the way off.

He wanted to ask her, to point out how different this Cauthrien was from last night, to make a point of letting her know how much he liked this softer version of her. It wasn’t that the other wasn’t also appealing. But this, he could get used to. This didn't have to threaten them. This didn't have to end in hurt me, and he opened his mouth to speak.

And then she sat up, reaching behind herself to undo her breastband, and the words were lost.

Bared, she leaned back down and pressed kisses to his lips, his jaw. She nuzzled her cheek against his as she reached back between them for his length. His thoughts went hazy as her fingers wrapped around him, and it was all he could do to reach for her. A hand found her waist as she rested against him.

He didn’t want to give up the skin-to-skin contact where she could be as close to him as their bodies allowed. But he found a space his hand could slide up her belly, to wrap his fingers over one of her breasts, to caress and knead.

But when he had the chance, he pulled his lips away from her, for just a moment.

“You’re enjoying this...” he said wonderingly. “This is a different side of you-”

Different, but good. Even as she drew a small groan from his lips he was able to continue. After everything he thought she should know.

“I like it.”

She paused, looked away sheepishly. "... I'm trying something new," she admitted, carefully glancing back to him. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips reddened and a little swollen despite the lack of violence in her kisses. "Something I never had the opportunity to try before."

She had faltered in her languid, experimental strokes when he spoke, but she resumed them, still learning the feel of him, the way he responded in her hand. She arched into his touch when his thumb found her nipple, then bent her head to stroke his lower lip with her tongue once more.

"Tell me if I do something wrong," she murmured.

He grinned. “Nothing wrong with this,” he managed after several long moments.

Thoughts of the night before were long gone and there was nothing but every touch of her hand, every lick of her tongue. He rolled his hips towards her, almost unconsciously. It felt like the heat from her hand was spreading through him, starting with her strokes and rising through his chest to where his lips met hers.

She didn't stop her hand until she sat up, shifted her hips, and guided him to her entrance, a quiver going through her from tip to toe. Cauthrien murmured something that might have been I want you, and then guided him into her, sinking down onto him with a groan, her eyelids fluttering, her lips parting.

It took him a moment to come down from the feeling of her, soft and wet and welcoming. He let out a low noise that could have been her name in that moment, or just the sound of his own pleasure. But after, he slid a hand to her cheek, threading his fingers into her hair as he cupped her face and whispered, “Cauthrien”.

He wrapped his other arm around her, holding and pulling her close with a steady rhythm, slow, and letting her pace the changes. When he could, he kept his eyes open, wanting to watch her as best he could.

There was the slightest amount of space between them, the only points of contact their hips, her thighs against the outside of his hips, her chest against his, her lips against his. She propped herself up, hands on either side of his head.

It was slow, gentle, and she let out a series of moans - not nearly as loud as the night before, but building, slowly, in volume.

She increased the speed at which she rocked her hips only when the slow pace was almost too much to bear, too tantalizing, too tempting. She shifted one arm so that she could slide a hand into his hair, thumb his braid as she broke their kiss, let her head drop forward, her breath warm on his shoulder and heavy with her voice. The sound and vibration of her murmurs and cries against his skin made him buck his hips up quickly into her, despite trying to stay at her rhythm.

He had to lean his head up into her neck, keeping his own voice quiet, forcing his own breath to come more evenly. He kept the sound low and quiet, as controlled as he could, using kisses against her neck and shoulder to keep himself nearly soundless to anyone but her.

He kept a hold on her hips, using them only as leverage as she quickened the pace again.

She was all coiled, flexing muscle- and trembling soft flesh. Her toes curled and thighs tensed, controlling the rhythmic thrust of her hips down to his, but her hands and lips were gentle, uncoordinated, needy and soft. Her lips trailed over his collarbone, her forehead pressed to his neck, his shoulder.

When the volume of her cries leveled off, she was still far quieter than she had been the night before.

He noticed distantly that she was once again learning from him, matching her actions to his, this time in matters of volume. But his skin felt stretched to its limits, that at any moment he could slide out of it as the heat and the pleasure filled every inch of him. His lips parted, sound trying to escape - working to tell her, to say something - but all that came out was a rough exhalation of breath that could have been a laugh or a cry had their been noise with it.

What he managed eventually was little more than her name.

He knew that they should stop, that he should pull back. But when her movements drew his hips up against her of their own accord, everything else was forgotten again. His eyes closed and he braced for what would soon send him over the edge.

The angle she moved against him at let her roll her hips against his pelvis, making her gasp and squirm and buck, and as she reached her peak, she pushed herself back up to almost sitting to allow herself to thrust harder, take him deeper. He heard her whimper and then her fingers sought out his hand, grabbed it and pulled it to one of her breasts.

He was nearly gone already. His lips were parted, eyes closed to her, though he tried to force them open. Everything was warmth and motion and near pin-pricks in his sight with the force of it all.

With nothing to press his mouth against he shut it, though it made him draw less air. There was a roiling, low sound that stretched from his stomach and up through his ribcage and he let it out little bits at time as he tried to hold on to the feeling as long as possible. He focused the little concentration he had left on his hand, squeezing at her breast with brushes of his thumb and fingers across it as he rolled his hips up.

His breath caught as the sensation built to a level he couldn’t contain, what felt like fire spreading through him and out as he let a final moan out. He tried to sit, his back up off the bed as he came. He pushed into her again, letting the motion carry him into her again and then up, wrapping his arms around her.

She kissed him to muffle the loud cry she made as she came around him in turn. She rocked against him, just rolls of her hips, no other motion except how her arms came around him to grip at his shoulders, hold him close.

She let her mouth slide from his and pressed her forehead to his throat again as she panted for breath. "Teagan," she murmured, sighed against his skin, pressing her lips to his pulse

His name. He lifted his eyes, watching her as her skin shivered, the last waves moving through her. Bringing a hand to her face, he brushed her hair away, over her shoulder, using his thumb against her cheekbones, down her throat.

He leaned in, down, just enough to kiss at her ear. To whisper, “Cauthrien”. And nothing about it seemed wrong- even as his head cleared.

“You- I-” he started still breathless. “I'll talk to an herbalist. Tomorrow. I will.”

She lightly stroked a hand over his mussed hair.

"Don't need to worry about that," she murmured, quietly.

He leaned back into the bed at that, pulling her down with him and wrapping his arms around her again. By the time they were settled, he was already tired, despite their earlier nap. His eyes closed again and he pressed his nose into her shoulder with a sigh- a contented one.

“No?” he found himself asking even as he rested against her.

"No."

He sighed again. Stirring just a little, he brought a hand up tracing lazy lines on her arm, and then reaching up to her hand, pulling it into his. He twined his fingers with hers and squeezed them.

"Do your servants wake you in the morning?" she asked.

“Not anymore,” he said quietly. “... up early.” The last was more of a murmur as leaned his head closer to her.

She shifted close enough to give his cheek a light kiss before she settled down and closed her own eyes. "I'll be up at dawn," she murmured. "Soldier."

And then he let the creeping, gentle softness take him, and fell asleep beside her for the second time that day.

  
**\--**   


She was up at dawn with no desire to flee.

She stirred and stretched, rolling away from the warmth beside her. She didn't open her eyes immediately, instead waiting for the tingling tension in her limbs to reach their releasing point and then relaxing again before she did.

Mumbling, Teagan followed her and tried to pull her back to him. She let him. A moment later, he stretched his legs, curled his toes and managed to blearily open his eyes. Running a hand through his hair, he pulled back just enough to look at her.

“Good morning.” It was almost a question, as if he wasn’t sure she had stayed with him through the night after all.

"Good morning."

They'd never made it beneath the blankets the night before, but the room was decently warm, and with him beside her, that was more than enough. She was half-tempted to go back to sleep again, to sleep through the dawn, preclude any last minute attempts at flight. But she had no reason to flee, or desire, and so she just offered him a small smile, a quirked brow.

If she was awake, though, she should be out in the practice yard.

So, quite carefully, she tried to sit up. "Sleep well?"

“Very,” he nodded, smiling against the pillow as he spoke. “You?” His eyes followed he as she rose. Swallowing thickly, he stretched and then groaned as he sat up as well, movements stiff.

He blinked at her blearily and gave her another sleepy smile.

She had slept surprisingly well. She didn't remember waking up, even to shift away from him. She counted herself lucky that she had adjusted to being in another person's bed so well - and that she trusted him enough that small movements on his part didn't wake her.

"Very," she said, watching his attempts at waking with an amused little smile. She had already shifted to her knees, ready to leave the bed, but she sat back again.

Maker, she liked looking at him.

"I was going to head out to the practice yard before breakfast," she said, turning away to swing her legs over the edge of the bed, stand. Where had she flung her clothing the night before? "You're welcome to come, though it might not be the wake-up you're used to."

Nodding, he turned to slide his legs off the other side of the bed. “Actually, I think I will join you. I could use the practice,” he said as he pushed himself up and off the bed.

He looked for his clothes for a moment and then seemed to think better of it, crossing the space between him and Cauthrien. He reached for her hands, kissed one of them, and then leaned in to kiss her cheek. When he moved to kiss her lips, he let go of a hand and trailed his fingers against her face, cupped her cheek against his palm.

She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to how easily affectionate Teagan could be.

She laughed, quietly, at his kisses, his touches, and stepped into them. Her leggings and smalls, which she'd picked up, she dropped.

After a moment, she stepped away again. "I'm not going to go easy on you, you know." And she wouldn't. Match her force to his skill, yes, but go easy? Never. That was worthless, for both parties. "You might get banged up. Again."

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he said with a small chuckle. “Besides, I doubt you could even if you wanted to.”

He stepped back. After running another hand through his hair and tucking his braid behind his ear once more, he carefully touched his face. He didn't flinch in pain, and Cauthrien could barely make out any swelling from the day before. The poultice had done its job well.

With a smile he took a few more steps away. “And if you do, I’m sure there’s some way you could make it up to me.”

She snorted as she bent down to pull her smalls and leggings back on. "Oh, yes. I'm sure you could think of something very easily," she laughed, shaking her head.

This easy, sensual companionship- was this normal? Maker, she had missed... a lot, really.

She was quick and efficient in dragging on the rest of her clothing. Her arming jacket and armor were still in her room, as was a replacement tie for her hair. She'd have to stop there first. She sat down on the edge of the bed as she tugged on her boots.

"I'm assuming you have blunt or wooden practice weapons?"

He nodded, finishing the laces on his breeches. “Yes, there are practice weapons available.”

Once he fastened his doublet and pulled on shoes he met Cauthrien near the door. “Should we have breakfast first?” He grabbed her hand, squeezed it and dropped it again. Reaching for the door, he said, “Discreetly,” and with a smile, “of course”.

He pulled the door open and waved a hand.

"I usually work before eating, in the mornings. It's up to you." Her smile didn't leave, just softened a little, shrunk, as she came to stand by the door- but a little behind where it opened. That way, if anybody was watching...

She took a quick look. Nobody.

She stepped into the hall.

He chuckled as he stepped into the hall after her and closed the door behind him. She fought down the urge to shoot him a glare, reminding herself that Teagan appeared to approach everything with good humor, even the inconvenient realities.

"I'll need to get my armor, at any rate."

He waved a hand, dismissively. As he walked passed her room, he glanced back and said, “Breakfast first,” then continued down the hall and on to the dining room.

... Well, breakfast first, then.

She followed after him. She would dress and arm herself once she was fed; otherwise she would just be possibly uncomfortable at the dining table and certainly made to wait for him to get ready later.

Besides, she was beginning to like taking her meals with him.

"Should I look at you distrustfully all meal? Just in case somebody sees?" Especially if he kept laughing like he was, it might be necessary. But really, she just wanted to relax in his presence. She still didn't wholly understand why she could in the first place, but when it was an option, there was little sense in rejecting it. Not after the day before.

“You should,” he nodded solemnly, though his eyes still sparkled with laughter. “Though, I can’t promise to do the same.”

"All the more reason for me to appear distrustful. Clearly, your good humor means you're plotting something." She shot him a quick little smirk, walked close enough to touch his elbow. And then she drifted away again, pushing space back between them.

They entered the dining hall, and Cauthrien shook her head. So much had happened there, and every time it seemed just the same as it always had been and wholly different, all at once. She moved to her usual spot, mindful this time of how her hair brushed her exposed shoulders. She should have at least grabbed a tie. Her arming jacket, too- she couldn't be sure that there weren't marks on her throat from the night before.

But what was done was done. At any rate, nobody had yet interrupted them during a meal save for the servants who brought out the food.

Just as those servants came to set food out again, a man entered who was not dressed quite the same and looked none-too-pleased. Teagan looked slightly ashamed as the other man approached and Cauthrien tensed.

“Good Morning, Raud.” Then to Cauthrien he said with a nod, “My seneschal, Raud.”

Raud nodded to her and though he spared her only a brief glance, his distaste was evident. When he looked back to Teagan, it was clear that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant meeting.

“My lord Bann Teagan, I trust you had a _restful_ day yesterday?”

“I did,” he said, his voice steady, ducking his head slightly to look at the food. “I know I owe you a mountain of work, Raud. Which I will begin, just after breakfast.” His gaze flicked to Cauthrien for a moment, as if to apologize. She kept her face expressionless, stoic. He looked away from her and lifted his chin and looked back to his seneschal. “If that’s alright?”

The man nodded sharply. “I’ll be waiting, my lord”.

When Raud left the room, it was via the door that led quickly to the office. Teagan sighed, smiling tightly, then looked to Cauthrien.

“I’m sorry. I do need to do something.” With some bit of hesitation he added, “I suppose I should have said something yesterday. But it can’t be helped now.”

After he had a few bites of food, he added, “Perhaps you can start without me? I’ll meet up with you when I get a break?”

"If I'm still out there by then, you're welcome to join me. And I have no other place to be."

Except to post her report to Anora, finally. She made a note to do just that, then bent to her food, picking at it. She rested her weight on one elbow on the table and tried not to look over to him too readily.

"... What will you tell him happened yesterday, if he asks? We were both rather conspicuously absent except for dinner."

He leaned in just a little with a smile and shrugged. “I had a nap yesterday afternoon after a hard ride yesterday morning. It’s true enough.” The playfulness in his expression returned in full as he turned to his food. “And I’ll have plenty of motivation to work quickly.”

Her smile broadened slightly at that, her cheeks coloring just a little.

Loghain had never pushed through work-

No.

No, she wouldn't think that way anymore.

The fact that Teagan would work quickly to get back to her, it made her feel good. Wanted. And she liked that.

She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it back. "Do the work well, though, or else he'll be after you tomorrow with even more."

Watching her, he chuckled again, unable to suppress his smile. “Oh, I will,” he said, quirking a brow at her. “I wouldn’t want a repeat of that,” with a nod he indicated where Raud had been standing, “tomorrow morning”.

Cauthrien nodded. Former opposition or not, she was quite aware that Teagan was very good at what he did. He'd handled both his bannorn and an arling during a war; he could catch up on two days' missed work.

She turned her attention back to her breakfast, finishing it quickly. "Well, I'll be out in the yard, when you need a respite from paperwork." She didn't actually understand how nobles could lead as they did - it was overwhelming enough being in charge of a division of the army, and that involved far less paperwork, far more simply looking out and seeing what was happening.

As she got up from the table, he nodded. “I’ll find you there soon enough,” he said with a smile. “After I make sure that Raud is settled and I’ve done enough work that the rest can wait for tomorrow.”

She left the hall with another nod, another smile and returned to her room in high spirits, despite the delay. It would give her time to get settled- work out any frustration that might be lurking behind her new found happiness and learn her practice weapon before she had to face Teagan.

Once her hair was tied back and her armor donned, she made her way down to the practice yard, stopping only to post her letter. She didn't always practice in full armor, but it was useful to do it every so often.

When Teagan arrived, she'd shed the metal. It should correct for any lingering unease fighting her would produce. With padded jackets, the wooden sparring weapons she found would be adequately protected against.

That he would conceive of sparring with her at all, though, made her feel- trusted. It made her smile. It meant something. It meant something very good, very pleasant, and a little frightening, but she went with it.

  
**\--**   


Raud was indeed waiting for him when he arrived and still looked displeased as Teagan took his seat. The older man had already arranged what look like more work than he could get through in one morning on his desk. His seneschal stood over that desk, mouth pulled into a disapproving line.

“Good morning again, Raud.” Teagan tried to sound upbeat, even as he saw Raud’s clear disapproval and the work that awaited him.

“My lord,” Raud nodded. “We have several things that need your immediate attention this morning. However, about yesterday-” He stepped away from the desk, tense as though he had been preparing this lecture while he had waited.

Teagan held up a hand to stop him. If he could avoid it, if he could press through to the work, he would be able to put off any ideas about him and Cauthrien for a little while longer. The previous day had been strange and unexpected, but ultimately, the two of them were still on tenuous ground. Explaining it, when there was so little that could easily be explained, seemed unwise.

He huffed irritatedly. “I know, I should have said something before I left.”

Raud nodded sharply, but pressed again. “We nearly sent riders out after you, especially since she was also missing. It was concerning. One does not want to lose an agent of the Queen-”

“No.” He nearly laughed at that, pursed his lips to keep from it. “However, things are settled now.”

Teagan hoped to make that the end of the discussion, giving Raud a dark look to indicate he wanted no questions about the previous day or why he had ridden after Cauthrien in the first place. He most especially did not want to address why he had returned with an injured face.

Glancing away, the older man shuffled parchment on the desk. Teagan crossed the space to his desk, passing behind Raud. His seneschal took the moment of distraction to say, a little quieter, and with some concern, “Still, you departed without escort and then left many things undone-”

“I am sorry, it won’t happen again,” he answered softly.

There would have been concern had Cauthrien run him through. Or if he had let her go- let her ride to Denerim to tell the Queen of their... indiscretion, as she had called it. Though it did not suit him to admit it, his chase after her had been reckless, foolish. He smiled down at his desk at the thought, at the memory of her words.

Raud cleared his throat, parchment in his hand. Teagan shook his head, to free his mind of the memory of Cauthrien in the field or the other, more pleasant image of her in his bed. Or the though that she would be in his practice yard where he could join her.

“Let’s get to work now. I’d like to get out to the practice yard some time today.”

With that, it seemed he and Raud came to an understanding. Teagan, did his best to look clearly at the work before him and with a reminder to himself to be more careful about his time away from his duties, he set to work.

It was midday when Raud relented. He could have at least an hour away from his desk and happily, he went to his room and changed. He made his way towards the practice yard, a broad smile fixed in place and went out to meet Cauthrien, hopeful she would still be practicing.

She was. She worked in her arming jacket, her armor on a stand along the far wall and no sign of her blade or any metal weapon at all. She looked flushed, sweat-slicked, and he could readily guess the reason why she did her drills in cloth instead of pounds and pounds of metal.

He could see thin strands of dark hair, curling and stuck to her forehead with sweat. There was high color in her cheeks, a brightness to her that he'd seen the first day he'd seen her practicing, that had been buried beneath her terror the morning before when he had ridden her down.

When she saw him, she called out a greeting, raising her hand to him. "Alive, then?"

“Barely,” he said with a smile.

“I’ll be lucky if I get any free time at all in the coming days. My ride yesterday morning was... a concern. I’ve had to promise not to let it happen again.” He stepped down to enter the yard. “I think Raud will make me keep it, too. He wasn't pleased about any of it.” With a shrug he crossed the yard to her.

He was tempted to push back the hair that had fallen down, but he stayed his hand. Instead he went passed her, bumping her shoulder just slightly as he went to grab a practice weapon.

"I'll just tell Calenhad not to expect any unplanned rides in the near future," she said, turning to watch him.

He chuckled, shrugging off his fine doublet and pulling on a padded jacket. “I hope he won't be too put out." Finishing with the toggles, he turned to her, sliding his practice shield onto his left arm and hefting his wooden sword. "Now, if you don't mind. I’d rather like to forget work for a little bit..?”

She nodded but hesitated to draw nearer to him. "For the record, I'm going to say it again- I'm not going to go easy on you. Your seneschal might end up with even more questions. And reason to glare at me over breakfast."

“Training is a far better reason to come back banged up-" He paused, not meaning to slight her, but knowing what it sounded like. Quickly he added, “I just mean that it’s as an excuse as any, and far preferable to...”

He gave up trying to explain and walked back over to her, feeling out the grip on the sword as he moved. It had been too long since he had been in the practice yard. And he had the distinct feeling that he was not as prepared for sparring with Cauthrien as he might like to be.

“Anyhow,” he swallowed a bit nervously. “He’ll get over it eventually.”

"We can hope so, anyway."

“Indeed.”

Cauthrien moved to the center of the yard, sword pointed down and behind her as she moved. She rolled her shoulders, let them relax, and then gave him a small smile.

"When you're ready," she said, lifting her sword up so that the hilt was in line with her ear, her blade pointed straight towards him.

He stepped forward, letting the sword roll over in his hand once, before steadying his grip and settling into the ground. He took a deep breath as he tilted the blade up in front of him, angled towards Cauthrien.

With a smile on his lips, he nodded and then with another breath added, “Ready”.

She nodded in return but didn't immediately press forward. She looked over his stance, circled to his left with a few careful steps. He watched her carefully, matching her movements with his own.

And then she stepped forward with a quick swing down, a testing blow. He leaned back, bringing an his shield up. Her sword hit it and he grinned, stepping forward with his sword cutting for her neck. She disengaged from his shield and caught his blade. She recovered fast and after a brief pushing test at his weight behind his sword, she fell back and brought the hilt of her sword in line with her hips.

As her sword arm fell back, his did also. He wasn’t eager to press forward, knowing her to be the better swordsman than he was. But, he braced and brought his arm back up to block again.

She shook her head, a small movement, and pushed forward again, this time pushing through his deflection to continue the attempted strike. "Never just block- block with your strike," she called, voice calm despite her quick movements. "Otherwise you give up a chance to hit. Use your shield as a weapon"

She pushed him harder. She only used her sword at first, striking and parrying, dropping back into well-practiced guards whenever she was rebuffed. She had been practicing for hours by that point, he knew, but she seemed to be a well of stamina, constantly moving, adjusting, muscles coiled and ready.

He worked through his hesitation, responding to her attacks when he could, even when it meant a few well-earned blows. His sword arm ached, his shield arm screamed with pain when a blow connected with it. But he was not completely outmatched, though his time out of practice started to show. He pushed through the hard breaths, the growing pains.

As they worked, he couldn’t help that small bit of himself that wanted to prove to her that he was capable against her. There, as they sparred, it wasn’t just him wanting to spend time with Cauthrien, it was-

It was a part of himself, that he had thus far been denying, surfacing. The part of him that knew, had she the time during the Blight, this place might no longer been his. Fighting, even with wooden swords in a practice yard, reminded him of that fact even more than her horse, or her armor, or her real sword had.

He increased the pace; he pushed harder, overreached, left his flank open. She let him drive her back, though she did not allow him to land more than glancing blows. She slowed her parries, kept her skill matched to his and it frustrated him. He felt mad with determination and tried to force her back again.

When he finally left a gap too large for her to ignore, she slid a hand to grip the blade of her sword, caught his blade on hers, pushed it up and out of the way. She closed the distance between them with nothing but a fast exhale, hooked one of her long legs around his, and dropped her blade quickly to press against his throat as she twisted her body, forcing him over her hip and onto the ground.

She followed down, blunt tip of her practice weapon touching the dirt below them just beside his head.

She was too close.

He dug a heel into the ground and pushed against it to slide out from under her. His eyes were wild, a mix of anger and adrenaline rioting in his body- and somewhere still the desire was still there. He swallowed and studied her face a moment, the sword in his hand nearly forgotten.

He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it when he realized he had nothing that wouldn’t sound like an attack. Digging his other heel into the ground, he pushed back a little more until he could at least lean against his sword for some balance, to try to stand again. He dropped his gaze from her as he moved, trying to blink away the confusion.

She shifted back and stood as he pulled away.

"We're taking a break," she said, and her voice sounded strained, thick with something he couldn't name. Somewhere her voice registered with him and he nodded.

She turned and walked away from him to where there was a pitcher of water.

It took him another minute before he was steady enough to try moving, though his knuckles were white on the sword in his hand. Still, he couldn’t look at her, though what he felt now was closer to shame.

Hadn’t he fought against these feelings already?

He had said it didn’t matter. That he knew who she was, what she had done and that he still wanted her. Maker, he did want her. Even now, as he lifted his head and looked to her where she had gone for water, he knew it was still true.

Yet that hadn’t stopped him from getting lost in the moment, the motions, wanting to prove he was capable. And it had ended with him on his back and her sword (practice, or no) near his head. He shook a little, letting the sword fall to the ground if only to keep from gripping it tightly, and made his way over to her. He was quiet as he reached to get his own drink.

She passed him the pitcher and without a word, went to put her weapon away.

"I'm going in," she called out, gathering her armor.

He couldn’t bring himself to respond even with a wordless grunt of assent. The thought crossed his mind to stop her, to call out, but he didn’t. He just shook his head a little and watched her go.

It wasn’t that she was better- she was, and he had known that when they began. No, what he hadn’t known was what it do would to him to actually face her in a fight. When the war had started, he had dreamed of a moment like it. And still did some nights, hoping that he could have stopped what she had done to the bannorn.

Briefly, he wondered if she would invite him to spar with her again.

He thought not.

Eventually, he collected the sword he had left in the dirt and put it away, along with his shield. He changed out of his padding and back into his doublet, made his way back into the house and to his room. He didn't stop to address her or give more than a sideways glance at her door as he passed it. For the first time since she had arrived, he was looking forward to returning to his office, for having work to do to keep him well and truly distracted from her.

Work did help. It gave him focus and with Raud nearly over his shoulder most of the afternoon, he didn’t have time to think of much else. It wasn’t always like this, he knew; there would be days when he would be left alone in his office knowing that she was somewhere on the grounds, when he wouldn’t be so lost, so focused. He had very little time to wonder if he had ruined things completely, or if those times could still be salvaged.

By dinner, he hoped he would feel differently. That he could regain some control.

  
**\--**   


Cold water was good.

It was bracing, and as she stood bent over her washbasin and stared at her reflection, it was also oddly soothing. It sent thought fleeing, at least, and so as she looked at herself, she didn't feel shame or frustration or fear. There had been a touch of fear, when he hadn't said anything to her and just let her leave.

Fear that she had broken whatever tenuous relationship existed between them, when threatening to cut him down had not, when laying out all her reasons had not.

She couldn't have him face her again, not with how wild he'd looked, staring up at her like he wanted for all the world to run her through, like he knew she would kill him without hesitation. It had been enough to simply imagine it before. She didn't need to know what it was really like, to have him beneath her like that. _He_ certainly didn't need to know.

And Maker, she hadn't even been fighting with all her heart.

He would have bruises. Even she had sore spots that would likely discolor, but him-

If they fought again, she was certain that she would lose whatever goodwill he held for her, that he would be unable to remain uncaring about their entwined pasts. Two days ago, she would have welcomed that disillusionment. Now, she wanted to keep it off as long as possible.

She wouldn't think about it. During the Blight she had become very good at not thinking about the unpleasant things as long as they didn't need to be dealt with immediately. She had lost that ability in the months since, but she felt like it was within reach again. Teagan had, for better or worse, staunched the bleeding inside of her, had made her feel like she hadn't in years. That healing let her settle at her desk.

She had mailed her report to Anora, but another letter could easily be begun. The idea of writing, however, did not appeal.

Reading, however...

She spent the hours until dinner with her nose buried in _The History of Rainesfere_ , with only a brief trip down to the kitchens for a small drink of ale, a piece of bread. She remained in her room at first, then found a spot on the battlements, feeling for all the world like a peasant girl offered knowledge, freedom, and power. At times, when she came across words like _intention_ or _too_ , she thought of Teagan, remembered the purpose of the book. But the rest of the day was lost in simply turning page after page, accomplishing work that needed to be accomplished, regardless of its origin.

When the sun began to set, she carried it down with her, prepared to retreat to the kitchens the way she had the first night there, if only to ensure the man's privacy and her continued ability to lose herself.

She was passing through the hall that drew near to Teagan's office when she saw him. She tried to keep moving, to pretend as if she hadn't seen him. _Discretion_ , that was what this was. She was good at it.

“Cauthrien,” he called to her from his door. A few steps later he was at her side and gesturing towards the dining hall for them to continue.

She couldn't flee once he'd called her name. She stopped where she stood, suddenly embarrassed about the book tucked against her hip. "Bann Teagan," she responded, with a small incline of her head. And then she looked away towards the dining hall, bottom lip caught for just a moment between her teeth.

"Was today productive?" Her voice felt hollow, and she cringed at it, beginning to move again. If he had reevaluated his willingness to be with her, that was both his right and to be expected. It wasn't hurting. It wasn't.

He tugged at a sleeve nervously and led her into the dining hall. Taking his seat he nodded. “Yes, Raud made sure my day was plenty productive.”

He was silent for a long stretch, and Cauthrien felt whatever words she might have had catch in her throat. She didn't look at him. She looked everywhere but him.

“Cauthrien,” he started, voice softer, apologetic. “... about this afternoon.” There was no playful smile on his lips, and she thought for a moment that it must have never existed to begin with. He looked down at the table.

“I’m sorry.”

"For what?" She frowned.

How was she supposed to understand that? Sorry for his entirely legitimate reaction? Sorry for ever telling her that they could make whatever they had- might have had- work?

She shifted uncomfortably in the seat she had taken. All she could remember was the panic in his eyes, panic that hadn't been there just the morning before when she had advanced on him with live steel in her hands. What had changed? Maker, what had _changed_?

She shouldn't be sitting across from him. She should be down in the kitchens, or the barracks, eating a quick and serviceable meal. Not playing at being an honored guest.

"Say the word, and I'll take my meal downstairs."

“No. That’s-”

He looked at the table again. Swallowed, took a breath and then tried to meet her eyes again

“I only meant to apologize for my behavior. I got caught up...” he pursed his lips. “I reacted poorly and I’m sorry.”

She had half-risen from her seat, and she sat back down then, fingers tightening on the edge of the bench she sat on.

Was it an inborn trait of the nobility, to be so articulate in apology?

"I-"

She frowned, then sighed, then reached back with her free hand and scratched at the back of her neck, toyed with the tie in her hair. A thought crossed her mind - that with her hair down, she would be so obviously not the woman who had caused so much harm, would be instead the woman he had taken to bed the night before.

It was a ridiculous idea, but she undid the strap anyway, wrapping the narrow length of cloth around her wrist afterwards.

"I should not have asked for you to practice... against me. The other day," she clarified, a quick glance up to him showing a hint of confusion. He had suggested it this morning, but the fault still initially rested with her. "It was short-sighted."

“I’m glad you did," he said, and she looked up to find him watching her.

"Still, I think it would be best to wait a while before trying it again,” he added, a smile tugging at his lips as though he couldn’t decide if should be there or not.

"Yes. A while would be good." She didn't relax, but her lips did quirk slightly in response to his.

"... You could certainly use the practice," she added after a moment's hesitation and consideration. It might have been too soon, but from everything she had learned about the man across from her, he responded well to good-natured teasing. It wasn't something she was naturally good at, but it was like picking up a new language - being around somebody using it made it take more quickly.

Swallowing, not waiting for a response, she picked up her book and set it down where he could see. "I'm quite a ways in. It's still better than Orlesian poetry."

For just a moment, his mouth hung open and then he let out a quick, sharp laugh.

“Yes,” he nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Obviously. The practice.” It was only half-melancholy in his voice but the rest was accompanied by a more purposeful smile and he leaned in to look at the book.

“You made more progress today?”

Dinner was brought in for them before Cauthrien had the chance to reply. Teagan leaned forward to look over the food as it was set down, and Cauthrien did the same, grateful for the reprieve.

She looked up at Teagan's sigh.

He was looking towards the nearby door, and she followed his gaze. There- his seneschal, from this morning.

“Yes, Raud,” he asked, flatly.

“Forgive my intrusion, my lord,” he said with the barest nod for Cauthrien. “However, the mayor is here seeking an audience with you. I would not intrude, but I fear it may be urgent.”

“I must apologize... again," Teagan said, looking to her and shaking his head, then pushing back from the table. He stood and turned to Raud, and by the set of his shoulders, she could see him settling into his work again.

Cauthrien rose moments after he turned his back to her. He hadn't invited her, but she wasn't prepared to sit poking at her food, even with a book to keep her company. Besides, she was investigating.

And she needed to have something to tell Anora in her next letter.

She followed at a quick pace, catching up to Teagan and his seneschal with ease. "I'll be accompanying you," she said, reaching to restrain her hair once more. "As a representative of the Crown."

He looked back as Cauthrien. “Oh, of course. I wasn’t thinking.” She thought she saw a hint of a smile.

With a shake of his head, they followed the hall to his audience chamber. The mayor, Gerald, was waiting, brow creased with worry. Teagan gave him a nod and then sat to hear what the man had to say. Cauthrien took up a position standing just behind him and to his right.

“Gerald?”

“My lord, I am sorry to disturb you so late, but there’s been an incident in town.” The man was older than Teagan, with a long greying beard, and he looked at Cauthrien with flinty, distrusting eyes.

“What kind of an incident?” Teagan pushed.

“One of the girls in town, Edlyn-” Gerald looked down at his hands. “She was missing this morning, it looks as though she’s been murdered.” When he looked back to Teagan, he reached a hand out with a folded scrap of parchment. “Her body is missing, but we found blood. And this letter.”

Teagan took the letter and started to unfold it. Gerald added, “It looks Orlesian, so I brought it to you.”

Cauthrien watched as his eyes scanned the letter, though she couldn't make out the words from there. When he was done, he looked at Gerald and then behind him at Cauthrien. He handed her the letter. “It’s Orlesian, looks like a love letter...”

A dead girl, and an Orlesian letter.

She scowled as she took the paper.

She hated reading Orlesian as much as she hated speaking it, writing it, hearing it- but this was exactly what she had been trained in it for. So she read it carefully, twice over, face losing all color, jaw tightening with each word.

 _My darling little girl-_

 _You were so lovely, drawing water the other morning. I can't imagine that you don't see it- that you don't know what you do to me. Little flower, why do you constantly turn me away? Ignore me? You're so beautiful. Let me show you._

 _I've waited for months now, but every time I invite you, you turn away from me. So this time, I will come to you._

 _\- the man who loves you more than the stars_

"This is not a love letter," Cauthrien said, fighting the urge to crumple it to a ball or tear it in two. She thrust it back to Teagan. "It's obsession."

The poetics had been off but the sentiment had been clear.

 _Mine._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation begins. An evening in the chantry brings up the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter rating: T  
> Chapter warnings: None
> 
> Note: We've decided on using the convention of italics for foreign language (in this case Orlesian).

Teagan took the letter Cauthrien thrust back at him, disgust at it’s contents clear in her expression. He read it again and nodded, glancing back to the mayor when he finished; the way the letter was written seemed far more possessive than any love letter should be.

He had been only a boy when Ferelden had fought back against the Orlesians. But the passing of time had not greatly improved sentiments towards the Orlesians. The feelings of the vast majority of Fereldans, especially those his age and older, were still poor, frustrated, and unkind. His sister-in-law Isolde was the daughter of the man that held Redcliffe during the occupation; the marriage, understandably, was not well received. The negative attention towards Orlesians had in past years lessened and most people were at least tolerant, but if an Orlesian had killed and taken the body of a local girl, he might have a town of very angry and prejudiced people on his hands.

Teagan let out a frustrated sigh. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention," he said with all the strength he could manage, inclining his head once more to Gerald. After a pause, in which he spared a glance toward Cauthrien, he asked, "Her body is missing?

Orlais had made no threats recently, at least none that he knew of, but one death by Orlesian hands would be all it took to turn Rainesfere against itself in search for one man. The faster the girl was found and the man brought to justice, the better it would be for everyone.

"I will send some guards to search the town for her, and for this... man." Whoever he might be. They had only a note, a language, and an obsession. He pursed his lips, uncertain of how to proceed.

"Do you have so many Orlesians living in Rainesfere?" Cauthrien asked, still frowning just as she had been since she'd been handed the letter. She was intense, focused, and none-too-happy. He remembered clearly her distaste about the language - did it extend to the people, too? Was she so much Loghain's creature?

"No, I do not think so." He looked at Gerald.

Gerald shook his head, "No. However, I do think there are a few that had Orlesian parents... and some knowledge of the language."

Teagan nodded. "Perhaps it might help to look for other letters. If they exist we might find out who the Orlesian is."

"If there are no more notes to be found, it would be faster to simply bring in every Orlesian in the town for questioning." She crossed her arms over her chest, and she was in that moment so very similar to the helmed soldier who had strode into his office the other morning, every inch intimidating duty.

But instead of wanting to frustrate her, this time he agreed with her proposal.

Teagan nodded. "Gerald, can you talk to those you know of and have them sent here to speak with Ser Cauthrien in the morning? I’ll have a guard sent with you." He glanced at Raud, who nodded and went to make arrangements.

"If that’s alright with you?" he asked Cauthrien, voice softer.

She didn't respond, instead turning to Gerald. "Can I be shown where you found the blood and the letter?" she asked. "Just so I can see it for myself." She shot a glance to Teagan only then, questioning, needing support.

"That sounds like a good idea, C- Ser Cauthrien." He bit his lip. _Ser_ Cauthrien. The slip earned him a warning look from the knight, and he squared his shoulders, adding, "The sooner, the better." If they left now, he thought they might still have enough light to see. "Gerald, would you escort us to where the letter was found?"

Teagan gestured at the door across the chamber and started in that direction. He realized he still had the letter in his hands and with only a cursory glance down to it, he folded the parchment and tucked it away.  

**\--**

They went on horseback to the the farm where the girl had gone missing. They arrived just as the sun was reaching the horizon, the land drenched in swiftly-dimming red and long shadows from the hedgerow and the buildings. Teagan didn’t make it out to the farms as often as he should, or at least not since he had returned home from Redcliffe - too many other things had needed tending to. As they approached he looked between the farm and Cauthrien as he tried to gauge her reactions and tried to avoid thinking about all the things that could’ve happened to the poor young, Edlyn.

Gerald led them to a small clearing near a cluster of farm buildings and as Cauthrien dismounted, she asked, “Where on the farm was the blood found?" Her eyes were narrowed and she spared barely a glance to Teagan as she tied Calenhad to one of the nearby trees.

He and Gerald followed suit, securing their horses before gathering together so Gerald could point the way. He led them towards the main building and said, "Near the house.

"Edlyn’s family is still rebuilding their home and there are supplies near the house, under a lean-to. Both the blood and the letter were found there."

The house was in various states of disarray: the roof covered in thatching that looked as though it had been patched several times. A front wall was open, beams showing where new construction was taking place. There were several crates piled next to the house, under a haphazardly constructed lean-to covered with an oil-cloth attached to the house.

They stepped around cloth and lumber, tools and roof thatching, into the shadows of the lean-to, and stopped over a more open stretch of earth. The ground Gerald pointed out was covered in dark spots. The mayor sighed as he stepped around the largest of the stained areas and looked to Teagan and Cauthrien. "Right here."

Cauthrien crouched next to it, trailing her fingers along the ground. He saw her look at her hands, clean except for a few specks of dirt. Dry, of course - the blood had been shed during the day and there had been no rain to keep the ground moist. She frowned, peering at the size of the blood stain.

Teagan crouched down beside her, frowning as well and shaking his head.

If an entire person - even a young woman - had bled out there and only there, so as to leave a blood stain of that size- the earth should have felt different. But he watched her dig her fingers into the soil and let the earth fall against her hand. The blood only seemed to have gone in a tiny bit below the surface.

"She didn't die here," Cauthrien said, voice flat and controlled.

Teagan stood, slowly. "It may be more important to talk to those people tonight, Gerald. If she didn’t die here, there’s a chance she’s not dead at all."

He looked to Cauthrien, "Is there a trail? Maybe to at least help us find a direction?"

"I'm not a tracker," she muttered, frowning, but she did move around the edge of the blood spot, eyes fixed on the soil. Her brow furrowed and she seemed to find something, but she stopped only a few feet away from them. "If there is one, I can only follow it to here. It goes north."

She stood fully, turning back to Teagan and Gerald. "Bann Teagan is right; there's no way she died here, and she may have been only incapacitated and carried away. If she is alive, she's lost a lot of blood. We need to talk to those people.

"Bring them to the chantry." It was an order, not a suggestion or an advisement. She sounded as if she were ordering troops, voice firm, words clipped. She fixed the mayor with a level gaze, hands clasped at the small of her back.

Gerald raised an eyebrow at her command and turned his head slowly towards Teagan, looking for some direction. The man’s jaw was set and he looked uncomfortable with taking her order without some indication from him first. Teagan kept his expression firm and gave a quick nod to the mayor, who still looked displeased, but set off towards his horse.

Cauthrien said nothing as the man left and pointedly ignored Teagan's questioning look. When Gerald had set off in the direction of town, though, her shoulders sagged just a little and she walked without a word over to Calenhad.

He followed.

They rode for the chantry, to await the arrival of whomever Gerald sent their way, without a word. to each other. When they finally dismounted at the bottom of the steps leading up into the chantry, it was dark.

Teagan stopped at the door.

During the ride, he had replayed Gerald’s reaction to Cauthrien. He considered how people might react to being questioned by Ser Cauthrien. Was this how he was supposed to be worrying - about he and Cauthrien together? She had suggested as much to him before and he hadn’t listened. Tonight, if she was by his side, was likely to incite people’s fear not only about the things Loghain had ordered done to the Bannorn, but panic of an Orlesian threat.

In the dim light outside the chantry, he tried to get a look at Cauthrien’s face, to read her mood. He had already made one huge mistake that day, he didn’t want to make another.

A bit nervously, he said, "This will have to be handled carefully. I do not want to worry people about an Orlesian threat, needlessly." Slowly, he reached for her hand, just to lay his fingers on her wrist, sighing a little as he touched her. "I just-"

 _Maker’s breath._

He didn’t know what to say, only that he should say something. Instead, he paused mid-thought, his hand on her arm, looking at her in the early evening moonlight.

Cauthrien didn't pull away from him, but she did look down to where they touched. She seemed to consider, then looked back up to meet his eyes.

"I know the difference between an Orlesian and the Orlesians," she said, the frown her face had settled into sharpening for just a moment. But then she relaxed, touching her dirt-stained fingers to her forehead. "Do you think I'm not fit for this task?" It was a challenge, but wrapped up in that challenge was honest concern, nervousness. "I want to- if I can do this one thing, rescue this girl, I-"

He took a breath and searched for words then closed his mouth, jaw clenching. After another breath, he met her gaze again.

"I think you’re plenty capable. I was just-" Worried. Concerned, and not just for the missing girl. "I’m concerned, that’s all."

He let his hand fall away from her arm and reached for the door, pulling it open. There was a moment where he felt he should say something else- but he shook his head instead and gestured for her to go inside.

"Concerned," she repeated, and her voice was strained, nearly angry, as she brushed past him.

The chantry wasn’t very full. The brazier burned brightly across the hall from the front door but the pews lining the hall were unoccupied. Teagan only saw two people and a Sister conversing at the far end. They would be able to use a room along the hall for their interrogations.

Cauthrien bowed her head, lips moving in a silent, brief prayer, and then took up a spot leaning against the wall where she could see the door.

After the way she had sounded when she had followed him inside, he kept quiet. They stood to the side of the entrance, waiting for Gerald to arrive with at least some if not all of the people that Cauthrien wanted to question. He watched her, biting at the inside of his bottom lip, trying to keep himself from saying something else he didn’t need to. It still felt as though he hadn’t apologized properly for that afternoon, nor had she forgiven him.

And he wasn’t sure that she would forgive him.

He thought about at least asking what her questions would be, when Gerald arrived. If they could talk at all, that would alleviate some of his worry. He did trust her. He trusted the Cauthrien from this morning, from last night. But, he thought he had driven her away. At least it didn’t feel to him like she was that woman standing near him. So he said nothing, unwilling to trust himself to say something that wouldn’t make everything worse while they waited.

When Gerald arrived some time later, he had twelve men with him, of varying ages. Teagan ushered them into one of the back rooms and explained that he and Ser Cauthrien had some questions for them.

**\--**

When she had learned Orlesian, it had been to this purpose: sussing out lies, understanding identities. Catching spies, at the time, or understanding intercepted missives. She fell into her old training.

She started simply, by addressing each one in turn in Orlesian, though the language felt sickly on her tongue, asking basic questions about when they had learned the language and why. A few were barely capable of holding a conversation, and when she determined that it was honest difficulty and not feigned ignorance, she sent them away.

And then she asked for paper, and when it had been brought, had each of them write her a sentence in Orlesian. Half the remaining men were completely illiterate. Those, she also sent home.

That left her with four individuals. Two men of Rainesfere, through and through. One was Orlesian but had come to settle several years ago. One was a traveling merchant, in town for the past two weeks. She asked them all to write her a few more sentences, and then asked them to write down a line or two of poetry that they knew.

It was hard to get the frustration out of her voice. She reminded herself, time and again, that her own mother had sung her lullabies in Orlesian. That her father had sung resistance songs, likewise in the foreign, conquering tongue. The two Rainesfere men - she had no problem with them, except that they reminded her vaguely of her father. The two Orlesians, though- she kept herself on a tight leash, asked only the questions she had planned.

She had told Teagan that she knew the difference between an Orlesian and the Orlesians, but it had been a rough, thin lie. No, sometimes she didn't know the difference - a product of being around Loghain for far too many years.

It was the Rainesfere men who distrusted her the most. The Orlesians both seemed delighted to be able to converse in their native tongue with somebody who was fluent and relatively articulate, no matter her demeanor.

Collecting the writing samples, she looked to Teagan, to see if he had any further questions before she took a moment to read over them. They had little time, it was true, but the writing samples might weed the suspects down still further.

Maker, she could have used some wine at that moment, to wash the taste of Orlesian from her mouth.

As Cauthrien finished, Teagan stepped forward and asked the remaining men where they lived and a few basic questions about their past few days. It was nothing that specifically allowed him to rule any of them out, but it gave them an idea of who would have been near the house or had a chance to meet with Edlyn. They were decent questions.

Cauthrien listened in, leaning back against the wall as she looked over the writing samples. The two Rainesfere men - they were literate, but their spelling in Orlesian was as atrocious as hers in the common tongue, and they excluded small details that the note found earlier had included.

She folded those samples and handed them to Gerald for safe keeping.

The other two- they were completely literate, as she had expected given their speech. What was more useful, however, was that they had differing styles. Neither quite fit the note, but one was closer.

She looked up at the men.

" _A girl, Edlyn, is missing,_ " she said in Orlesian, stepping away from the wall and coming back over. She wanted, so badly, to loom. To terrify. But she didn't. She was conversational and as relaxed as she could be.

The merchant shook his head, frowning slightly. The two Rainesfere men scowled and looked immediately to the two Orlesians. The Orlesian who had lived there the longest, however, sat very still and very pale.

" _The little flower? She's gone_?" he finally breathed, and Cauthrien nodded, slowly.

Well, then. _Little flower_. Her eyes flicked to where Teagan had tucked the note, then to Gerald.

"Mayor, let the other three go. I believe we only need to talk to _monsieur_ Édouard."

Teagan helped the mayor usher the remaining men out of the chantry, thanking for their time and assuring them there wasn’t an issue they needed to be worried about. She nearly snorted. Did he really think that would keep their curiosity at bay, would stop the rumor mill?

When the rest were gone, Teagan turned back to them and asked Édouard, "How did you know Edlyn?" in the common tongue. She would have preferred to conduct the interview in Orlesian, much to her own surprise - she wanted to get a sense of the man in his native language. But it appeared that Teagan did not trust himself to speak it.

"She asked me to teach her..." Édouard started, voice a little weak, a little worried. "She wanted to know Orlesian."

"Why?" she asked, moving closer to the table he sat at. "Why would a farmer's daughter want to learn Orlesian when the knowledge can gain her nothing?" It didn't seem to hold, not really- though the letter had mentioned seeing her often.

Édouard gave a small shrug. "She thought it was romantic. She wanted to move to Orlais one day."

 _Romantic_.

She fought back the urge to counter that. It didn't matter if the girl had been foolish or not - only if the man before them was lying. He hadn't yet said that he _didn't_ have the girl, and she supposed the lessons... could have made sense.

Teagan nodded a little sadly. "How long have you been teaching her?"

"She asked me not long after I came to Rainesfere."

She took a deep breath. "When was the last time you saw her?" Would admit to seeing her - same thing. "What did she say? Do?"

"A few days ago, she seemed good- normal."

Teagan pressed forward before she could. "Was there anything unusual about the last time you saw her?"

The man shook his head. "There was something... she was upset. Something about her parents. She was to be betrothed." Édouard gave just the barest of amused smiles. "It was a surprise to her and it wasn’t what she wanted."

Cauthrien looked to the mayor. "Why weren't we told this?" she asked, voice sharp, then shook her head, looking back to Édouard.

Teagan looked to Gerald. "Did you know about this?"

The mayor shook his head. "Her parents did not mention it, I can ride back out and talk to them, if you wish?"

"Knowing who she was promised to would be useful, yes." Even Teagan's voice was a barely controlled calm. Cauthrien didn't trust herself to speak again.

"I’ll go." Gerald nodded and then left.

Once the mayor was gone, Teagan turned his attention back on Édouard. "You said it wasn’t what she wanted..."

 _Why do you constantly turn me away?_

It wasn't damning, just as his writing hadn't been damning, but those two things together with _little flower_ \- no. No, she didn't trust this man. Cauthrien shifted her weight. Her anxiety had been replaced completely by aggression; she clenched her jaw.

The man smiled, ignoring her for the moment in favor of speaking with Teagan. "I do not know... the little flower, she has always had the grandest ideas. She likes to dream, that one."

The smile was too much and Cauthrien looked to Teagan, expression hard. "Send the guard to search _monsieur Édouard's_ home," she said. It was an order, as firm as the one she had given Gerald.

They didn't have time to waste, after all.

She stepped close to the table, all but slamming her hands down on the wood as she leaned in to peer at the man. "Your _little flower_ of a student is missing, possibly dead, and you're smiling at her _dislike_ of her betrothal?" Her voice dropped dangerously soft. "What direction is your home in, from her family's farm, _monsieur Édouard_?"

The man jumped as her hands came down on the table. He looked at her hands, fear on his face. "N-north, I live in town. Just down from the butcher's, Oswin's- "

Teagan shook his head and glanced back at Cauthrien with what could have been displeasure or frustration, with her or Édouard - she couldn’t tell. Still, he nodded and left the room to send the guard out to search Édouard’s home.

There were a great many things she wanted to do to the man sitting at the table. She had so many questions to ask, threats to make. But she took a deep breath and kept her mouth shut, moved only to stand by the door, arms crossed over her chest. She never took her eyes off of him.

She wished that she had kept that letter. That she could put it in front of him, watch his reaction, question him about it.

But this was not, she reminded herself, her investigation, as much as she had fallen into command. She did not have the letter. This was Bann Teagan's land, his problem, and she was only lending her expertise.

There were still questions she could pose, however. Questions she didn't care about the answer to, but that Teagan might.

So after a stretch of several minutes, she asked, in Orlesian, " _Why did you come to Ferelden_?"

" _I lived here, before... when this land was- my parents returned home when the war was over and I had always wanted to come back._ "

Her upper lip twitched and she fought back her snarl, her frustration, her disgust. It wasn't his land. He had no reason to feel as if he could come back.

But she remembered what she had told Teagan - that she knew the difference between an Orlesian and _the_ Orlesians, and this man was not the Orlesians coming back to take Ferelden away from its people again, no matter how much the possible rape and murder of a farmer's daughter symbolized to her. She couldn't always see the distinction, but here, now, she would try.

Her hands clenched to fists at her sides.

" _And what have you found to do, here in Ferelden_?" Unspoken was, _who has wanted you? Who has trusted you to do work for them_?

Édouard shook his head. " _At first, not much. I travelled. Then I came here. Now, I work with Oswin when he needs help._ "

" _And Edlyn? Did she pay you? What did you get in return for teaching her_?" She glanced away to hide the full extent of her scowl.

" _I met her while working for Oswin. She was interested in Orlais, so she asked if I would teach her, I said yes. She wanted to pay_..." he shook his head again and looked down at the table.

Cauthrien hadn't known she could be any more tense - but she certainly became so. She felt it in every bone and sinew of her body, beyond just her muscles' quivering anticipation of combat, of punishment.

She stepped closer to the table again.

" _Wanted to_."

Nodding, he continued. " _Yes, but it seemed fruitless to take her money_."

She pushed her hands against the wood of the table, leaning in again. " _Did you take anything else, instead_?"

" _Sometimes she brought things from the land, food_ -" He looked up at Cauthrien with some confusion. " _But, take_?"

" _Your little flower_ ," she said, voice dripping with disdain before she could control herself. She leaned closer still, fingers of one hand curling. She pressed her fist hard into the wood. " _Is she beautiful_?"

He started to smile and it froze as the realization of her question dawned on him. After a moment, the smile grew at some memory she thought, not from joy or happiness. " _She is, though she is merely a girl_." He shook his head.

" _Old enough to be betrothed, though_." She realized, distantly, that she should have had Teagan ask these questions. He could have used his good nature, his cheer, to better ensure the man's openness. Very carefully, taking control of herself once more, she straightened up, loosened her shoulders, and sat down on the edge of the table instead.

" _She was not so old when I met her_ ," he said shaking his head. " _Just a girl_." He watched Cauthrien sit on the table, leaning away uncomfortably.

" _You've watched her grow up_."

That made her shudder. That, and how this man seemed to act so innocent. But- his little flower, his amusement at her displeasure with her betrothal- and he was the only man who could have written that note.

Maker, she wanted that note with her right at that moment.

" _I suppose I have in a way. I have taught her for a few years_." He gave a small shrug.

She almost didn't ask her next question. It was a violent question, one that would send her back into her anger before he could even respond. But it had to be asked, plainly.

" _Have you bedded her_?"

Orlesian made it sound so pretty. It was either pretty or horrific, and horror would do her no good. Even she could see that. Yes, it made sense to ask if he had raped her- but who would say yes to that, to a woman who held his life in her hands?

**\--**

Teagan had gone to get the guard to response to Cauthrien’s order, though he resented a little the need for it. Something about Édouard made him believe the man wasn’t lying to them, that maybe he had only taught Edlyn, Orlesian. When he found some of the guard, to direct them to the man’s house, he decided to go along with them; it wasn’t far and he wanted to see for himself that Edlyn wasn’t in the house.

He left the guard to do the majority of the work, walking slowly through Édouard’s small home, while the men with him searched it thoroughly. As each room was cleared, without even a sign that she might have been there, Teagan became increasingly worried about having left Cauthrien alone with Édouard.

She might only question him, but her distaste for the language and distrust of the people, along with her sudden surge of martial ferocity, concerned him. Teagan wished he had taken a moment, to say more to her before he left, even if it would’ve meant causing more trouble with her than he thought he had already. Instead, he waited, paced until the guards said the house was clear- no girl, no blood, nothing.

He assigned a few guards to keep an eye on the house and then as quickly as he could made his way back to the chantry, not waiting for the rest of them. After entering, he made his way to the back room where he had left Édouard and Cauthrien. He could hear their conversation as he approached, but Cauthrien’s last question made him speed up his last few steps. He came around the corner eyes already searching for her.

"Ser Cauthrien?"

There was something in her voice- he stepped into the room more completely and advanced on her. "She’s not there." He wanted to push her off the desk or at least move in enough to keep her from intimidating Édouard more than she must have done before his arrival.

Instead, he stood close, meeting her gaze squarely. "He should be able to return home... for now. There will be a guard watching the house."

He couldn't read the sequence of emotions that crossed over her face, not entirely, but there was anger there. Confusion. Bristling pride. Inside, he winced, braced for her response and tried to keep his composure calm in front of Édouard.

"I don't trust him to have not taken her somewhere else," she said, finally, slipping back into Common like it was her well-worn armor. "In my opinion, the evidence is too strong-" Her voice rose in volume and intensity as she spoke. "We keep him until he has been questioned thoroughly, and only then do we let him free to potentially go to her and harm her again, _Bann_ Teagan."

"No.” He said, using every bit of that calm he had built not to match her in volume or intensity. “We do not know enough. What I do know, is that she isn’t there, and _my_ guards are."

He took a step closer to her. There was danger in her tone- so he kept his hands down, tried to gather a bit of the strength he had felt the previous morning.

"So, we’ll let him go home, where he and the house will be watched. Tomorrow, we will talk to the rest of the people Mayor Gerald has talked to, and we will find out about Edlyn’s supposed bethrothed."

With a small breath, he tried to relax his shoulders, letting the tension out of them. If he worked to stay calm, maybe he would help her come down from wherever she was.

"There are no other suspects, Teagan," she said, voice dropping dangerously soft and low, his title falling away in the intimacy of her anger.

She stood from the table, drew closer to him in turn. "The only other man capable of writing as well as that letter was written was the merchant - but he was only confused when we mentioned the girl. _This_ man has a history with her, refers to her as _little flower_ like in the note. Has worked at a butcher's shop. He claims she was only a child, but calls her beautiful and _smiles_ when he tells us that she did not enjoy her betrothal. And you expect me to allow him the chance to run?"

Her words came faster and faster, and she seemed to him, tense from fingers to toes, nearly vibrating with frustration and anger. She ignored the world, or at least the Orlesian sitting not ten feet from the both of them.

"What will you tell Edlyn's parents if we release him and find her lifeless body in a brook three weeks from now? He's all we have.

"If you want to be kind and gentle, give him a room in your keep with a nice bed and a view. But _do not_ tell me we are leaving him where we cannot question him."

"All the evidence we have is not good enough for me."

With another breath he shook his head and pressed his palms flat to his thighs to keep from clenching his fists. He know that part of her argument was sound. But he also knew that if Edlyn showed up at Édouard’s house, or Édouard tried to leave in the middle of the night, Teagan trusted his guards to be there and to bring him the news.

"I _will_ send him home. And even if you do not, I trust my guardsmen." His voice was even, though he tried to keep it low, avoiding a scene and feeling slightly uncomfortable having the conversation with Édouard sitting so close.

" _If_ she shows up, or _if_ he leaves, we will be informed." It was not about kindness or gentleness, but Teagan had no reason to hold him further. He shifted his weight and tilted his head trying just a bit more, to put himself between Cauthrien and Édouard without stepping away from her.

In nearly a whisper he added, "Cauthrien, I am not just letting him go. There are men we did not question this evening. And there is still information we don’t know about Edlyn, or her parents."

Cauthrien swallowed hard, muscles and tendons of her throat jumping. She stared him down.

And then, her upper lip twitching once more in disgust, she turned and walked out of the side room, into the nave. Her angry, long strides took her quickly to the feet of the small statue of Andraste the chantry possessed.

Watching her walk away, Teagan sighed. It wasn’t relief. He didn’t think this would be the end of their discussion on the matter, but he was grateful in that moment that she had at least stepped away, if not backed down.

Though his Orlesian wasn’t as perfect as Cauthrien’s sounded, he used it when he turned back to Édouard. " _I am letting you return home tonight, Édouard. If I find out that my trust has been misplaced, my guards will bring you back to me_."

Then switching to Common, he asked, "Do you understand?"

The man nodded and said almost too softly to be heard, “Yes” and “Thank you”. Teagan tried to ignore Édouard’s confused and wide-eyed expression as he stepped back to let him stand up from the table. He escorted the man to the front door, both of them passing Cauthrien without a word or a glance. A guard met them outside, and Teagan left Édouard in the guard's care to get him home.

When the front door closed again, he turned to find Cauthrien. He approached, stopping just behind her and he said a prayer for Edlyn as he looked at the statue before them.

"I am headed home, Cauthrien,” he said as he turned from the statue to look at her. “Will you ride back with me?"

Her hands at her sides tightened into fists and it took a long moment for her to answer.

"I have nothing else to do. So, yes."

"I know you don’t like it," he whispered, "but I hope you can at least understand?"

Teagan thought to reach for her arm wanting to just make some sort of contact with her. At dinner, he had hoped they could talk and that they might have a chance to put the day behind him; that he would apologize for his behavior, she would forgive him, and it would all be forgotten. Now, he had those words again on his lips, ready to say he was sorry and still eager for her forgiveness.

But it was different than it had been before- this wasn’t just between the two of them. It wasn’t even about them.

He wanted to go home, have dinner, sleep. Tomorrow he would worry about who might really be guilty of taking the girl, Edlyn. But at that moment, without further information, he just couldn’t justify locking Édouard away. Teagan really hoped that if not now, then soon, Cauthrien would understand that. Or at least trust him enough to let him try it his way.

But the glare she fixed on the floor made him uncertain.

"I understand only that you're too generous and kind for your own good - and for the good of your people," she bit out, terse and acerbic. "There's no reason to leave him in his own home. Leave your guards there, give him the most resplendent room in your keep. But that way, he cannot run, he cannot plot, and most of all, we can continue to _talk_ to him.

"He never answered my question, did he? And so he possibly never will."

She shook her head. She hadn't looked at him since she left the interrogation room, and she didn't look at him now, turning around and heading for the door of the chantry.

"But this is your bannorn. Your people. I'm only here to observe." She spat the last word.

He followed her, not hesitating to reach for her as they approached the front door. His fingers grazed arm, but he kept himself from grabbing her wrist.

She jerked away from his touch as if it burned.

Quietly, he asked, " _Do you trust me so little_?" In trying to keep their conversation from escalating, he had chosen Orlesian, hoping to preserve some boundaries before they began arguing in the middle of the chantry. Still, when he stopped it was with an effort to put himself between Cauthrien and the front door before she could open it.

"Trust you so little?" She laughed, a rough bark, not bothering to switch tongues. "You- do you not trust _me_ about this? Do you think it's only my opinion on Orlesians that made me send your Fereldan men home? Do I need to sit down with you and explain every detail of every choice I made in there? Because I will.

"I was trained for this. Leading men, killing them, and _this_. I know you would prefer me to forget everything I ever learned from Loghain, but I refuse.

"That man is the only man who fits any of the clues we have, and you have sent him to his home, away from where we can reach him easily, for what? Comfort? To appear a good, gentle leader? Explain to me, oh _gentle_ leader, what benefit anybody gains from this?"

She stepped close to him, pressed her hand to the wood of the door behind him. They were close, closer than they'd been since they had sparred, and if anything it felt worse.

He bristled at her words, at her tone, at the idea that she thought she knew what he wanted for her. Then he lifted his chin and said, "This has nothing to do with what I want of you, from you, or for you. It has _everything_ to do with what I think is right not just for _one girl_ , but for all of the people under my care."

He leaned forward, feeling much as he had stared her down in a field not so far away, her steel pointed at him, poised to strike. This was different in origin, true, yet he still felt like it was right, that it needed doing, regardless what it meant for her, _for them_.

There was a small recognition left in him, for where they stood and what it must look like for anyone that could see them. He let his gaze drop and then began again, even quieter than before. "Do you know what it can be like for a town like this, when a man is suspected of something terrible- or treasonous? Does your _training_ tell you how it can rip people apart, how it can destroy people?

"This is the kinder thing. And I do it with purpose."

"Of course I know," she spat back.

"I grew up in a town far more broken and impoverished than this one for the first fifteen years of my life. I grew up in Ferelden just as the Orlesian occupation was broken, while you sat in safety in the Free Marches. I know about accusations of treason. I know about fear. I saw people I knew, were friends with, attack the Hero of River Dane because we were hungry and scared and he wore Orlesian armor. I know exactly what the accusation will cause.

"But the damage is already done, Teagan. The other men, they aren't stupid. They put it together, why we had called them in. They'll begin to talk. And now, instead of the people seeing you take him in to custody, you give him a guard and allow him to remain at home. You've painted a target on him and told the entire town that you will protect him."

He glanced at the door. They would not agree on this matter, he saw. He had been a boy then, safe in the Free Marches not because he wanted to be, but because it was where his father had put him and Eamon. But Rowan, she had fought, had even led troops. She had fought alongside Maric and Loghain, but maybe Cauthrien didn’t remember that part- she would’ve been even younger than he had been. While, she may have learned the same lessons, he and Eamon had learned much about the ramifications of war, of paranoia, from Rowan. He might not have been there himself, but he _knew._

Cauthrien couldn’t see the larger picture.

Shaking his head in disappointment, he looked at the door, then grabbed at it to pull it open. He still wanted to make this right between them but his decision about Édouard was his to make, and he had made it.

Softly, he said, "I trust you- and I heard same as you, what he said when her name was mentioned. There is something there but I saw his house and there was nothing. If he has her, it’s elsewhere... and we’ll never find that if he’s locked away.

"I need you to trust me too." He sighed, lifting his eyes to hers.

She pushed away from the door, stepped back, the muscles of her jaw jumping. "Trust is meaningless here," she muttered, shaking her head. "... It always has been. I'll follow your lead, but I'm through not speaking my objections because I know they'll be turned aside. I did that for one man. I will not do it again."

 _Always has been._

He still thought he was doing the right thing. There were things that didn’t make sense to him, and he knew there were others out there that they hadn’t yet questioned. There was more to learn.

But, even still, her words stung, much as her gauntlet had when she had struck him. _Meaningless._

He shook his head and yanked the door the rest of the way open. It didn’t matter how long they argued about it or whether one of them was right or wrong. What he heard was that she was once again comparing that moment, him, with Loghain. That it didn’t matter to her if he trusted her, if she trusted him.

Without a word, he turned and walked out of the chantry.

**\--**

It took her several minutes to get her heart to stop racing, to unclench her fingers with knuckles gone stiff and white from her tension. There was nothing more she could do that night, no other way she could try to convince him. Her experiences - they were only appreciated when they suited his goals.

It was okay. She was used to that. She was a sword, not a soldier, when it came down to it. Few people ever truly listened, and it had been many years since she had come to terms with that.

She scrubbed at her face with her hands and took another deep breath, then turned. She thought she had heard hoof beats, but with her heart hammering it was hard to tell if they were real. Still, she could find the way back to the estate even in the dark. She knew the way.

She nodded once to the Sister who watched carefully and closely and with some barely masked expression of distrust - and Maker, if even the Sisters here hated her, perhaps it was best if Teagan led. Even if it meant a girl died or a killer went free.

She strode quickly from the chantry, going to where Calenhad was tethered without allowing herself to look for Teagan. She only looked for him once she was astride her horse.

He was gone.

When she had fled, he had come to stop her. He had ridden her down and spoke to her until she understood. But she had already stopped him from running in the chantry. She had tried to make him understand the folly of his actions and what could have been done better. Just like on the practice field earlier that day, he hadn't listened.

They never listened.

True, she was angry; her blood still pounded in her ears and her fingers clenched tight against the reins, Calenhad shifting uneasily at each unintentional nudge. Her cheeks felt hot. She had tried to shout him down the same as she had done when he had ridden after her. But she knew this, understood this.

What she had said finally was fact: trust didn't matter. She would follow where she was led, just as she always had. If he said let the man go home, there was nothing she could do about it. A tiny part of her whispered to her about what had happened the last time she had followed a man she did not trust, but she shoved it aside.

Her throat felt tight and her stomach both heavy and hollow at the same time, she nudged Calenhad into motion and tried to forget everything but cool night air on her face.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It wasn't the real Loghain that plagued her; it was a hollow-eyed man whom she could no longer recognize, who made her flinch and feel ashamed with every kiss." Trust is damaged and repaired, and the two visit the town again in search of evidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: None

_Trust always has been meaningless._

Her words echoed in his mind as he rode home from the chantry. Their whole argument repeated in his mind faintly, but those words, they stuck in him. _Meaningless_. Trust was what he needed from Cauthrien, what he wanted most of all. He was frustrated- devastated to have been mistaken. He thought she had trusted him, that it was why she had returned home with him, and why she had let him teach her.  

That she hadn't done it because he was some great leader, but because even if she wasn’t certain about him- about what had happened between them, she _trusted_ that he was.

Because she wanted to.

He left his horse to be tended to in the stables upon his arrival at the keep and then went in search of what remained of dinner. There was stew left, and he sat at the low table in the kitchen, staring down into his bowl. It felt as though the whole room held an echo of his laughter from the night when he had found her there, wallowing in guilt, with a drink in her hands.

For a while, he tried to eat or drink, but found it hard to do either. Not in that room, not when he could picture her sitting across from him, joking, flirting. _Bann Disappointment_. Eventually, he grabbed his bowl, a tankard of ale, and took them to his room. It was quieter there, and there at least he could eat his meal in peace and not risk running into her when she returned.

Sleep came slowly that night.

He woke several times, each one with Cauthrien’s words still echoing in his head. Twice, he rose and paced his room until he was tired again. Eventually, he opened his eyes to find the barest hint sunlight was finally peeking through his window and unwilling to fight to sleep again, he got up, dressed, and returned his dishes to the kitchen.

The long night did little to make him less upset and if he let himself think about her, it was worse.

He didn't want to argue with her further about Èduourd. And for the time being, he didn’t think he was ready to confront her about his opinions on matters of trust. He still wanted her- still wanted to feel as though she trusted him, and not just during the investigation they were beginning.

Unsure of whether to sit at breakfast as though nothing had happened, or whether to start the morning alone in his office, he found a compromise. He went to his office and grabbed a handful of letters and reports that needing tending to. He brought everything to the dining table and spread his work out in front of him.

With his attention focused on work, he at least was able to ignore his thoughts of Cauthrien, of the investigation- anything about the previous day.

**\--**

She sat up late that night, writing to Anora. At first, out of spite, she thought to simply write as she always had. Instead, she pulled out _The History of Rainesfere_ and kept it open on her desk as she wrote, to double-check her spelling. The book didn't always help, but it made her feel slightly more confident. And it gave her mindless work to keep herself distracted.

 _Have not fownd out much more about Teagan's motivs. He remanes a deesent horse man and servisable with a sword, though it would apeer he has becom rustee in the last few months._

 _Ownlee won thing of note_

Several things of note, really, but so many of them seemed pointless by candlelight, sitting alone and eating stew already gone cold.

 _Ownlee one thing of note has hapened since ariving: a local girl has gon mising, presoomablee murdered. I am asisting on the kase, as the suspect apeers to be Orlesian._

She paused there, again. How much should she tell? Should she mention her fight with Teagan at the door of the chantry? Did Anora need to know about their relationship now that it was quite certainly at least changed, if not ended?

No.

She didn't need to know.

 _If a leter cood make it here befor the month is up, new orders wood be much apreciated. Teagan is too ungarded for me to distrust what he has alredy said._

It remained true, no matter what she had said in the chantry. No, trust was not necessary for her to follow him, and she did not trust him about the Orlesian - but she trusted him in other things.

The rest of the night, she spent reading over all the writing samples, wishing once more that she had the Orlesian letter.

She fell asleep at her desk.

Just as she had the night before she had fled Rainsfere, she slept uneasily. She was plagued by dreams- nightmares- of her years serving Loghain, of every time she had offered counsel and he had rejected it or, later still, pulled her away from the conversation with a kiss, a touch. It wasn't the real Loghain that plagued her; it was a hollow-eyed man whom she could no longer recognize, who made her flinch and feel ashamed with every kiss. She fought back.

It did no good.

She woke up sometime soon after drawn, sprawled across the letters, her inkwell knocked over. The floor and the edge of her desk were stained black, and she cursed as she pushed herself up to standing, rubbed at her face. Last night-

The dreams came back all too vividly, and Cauthrien swallowed.

She didn't want to do that again.

Two nights ago, she had begun relearning, reinventing. She had wanted that then, had wanted it more than anything, and it had felt _good_ , wonderful, perfect. She had forgotten for just a night what she had been before and made something new. And she would throw that all away just to fall into her old role again? After she had realized, that twisting wrenching feeling, that Teagan was right when he said that Loghain had _used her_?

Would bow her head and tell him to use her instead?

No.

She had to find Teagan. She had to at least ask to see the letter, but more importantly, she had to tell him that; that she had been mistaken the night before, that she _could_ be a sword but that she refused to be it any longer, and that- Maker, she-

She shoved the thought aside and changed her clothing, all but stumbled out into the hall, determined to find him. She went first to his bedroom, uncaring for the first time if there was any audience, and knocked.

There was no answer, only two servants approaching from down the hall, watching her with cautious frowns.

She knocked again, but there was not even a sound from within. His office, then; her long strides carried her to it too slowly for her comfort, and when she knocked there, there was again no answer.

If she could find Raud, she thought, she could ask the seneschal where Teagan was. He would know. But where to find _him_? She couldn't remember seeing him without Teagan, had no idea of where he moved, what he did when he wasn't pressing Teagan to work. She paced. Her steps took her towards the dining hall, though she slowed and approached warily when she heard the creak of a bench.

She stopped in the doorway, finding that her feet refused to move. Teagan was there. Breakfast was laid out, and he was eating without his usual languid ease. His brow was furrowed.

She had never known this, this embarrassed shame for something she might be able to still fix, that was between a person and a person and not between armies or opposing groups. For so long she had existed in realms of power and ideas, her personal life set aside whenever possible after she took up a sword. She didn't know how to do this. Did she just walk up to him? Walk up to him, stare him down, and tell him _I want to trust you_?

Tell him _I won't do with you what I did with him_?

She swallowed, hard, her heart trying to lodge itself in her throat. She shoved it back down.

It was only Teagan.

It was _Teagan_. She still disagreed with him, but Maker damn her, she couldn't fight him or give up and follow blindly. She needed something else. He had to know what that was. He had to.

Maker damn her, there was a girl missing and she could only think of _them_.

She straightened her shoulders and walked over to the table, slipping into the seat across from him as if nothing had happened. She reached for food, poured water from the pitcher into her cup, hands sliding on the condensation-dotted metal. It wasn't until she was settled that she looked up to him.

He met her gaze and his jaw was clenched. After a tense moment in which he said nothing, he pushed back from the table, collected his things and stood up.

She swallowed, knowing he would leave. If she didn't stop him, he would leave. The words caught in her throat and she found herself staring blankly up at him, lips parted.

Softly, her voice wavering with nervousness and confusion as to what she was doing, she said, "Last night. I'm s- I'm sorry."

The muscles in his jaw contracted, tensing and when they relaxed, he frowned. "Ser Cauthrien," he said, voice flat. Without any acknowledgement of her apology, he crossed the room and walked to his office.

He was- he was _running_ again.

She'd let him run the night before, and perhaps that had been for the best. She had needed time. She had pushed him into running, by the end. But right here, right now-

No, she would not let him run.

She rose without eating, stalking after him. He had already left the room, but the only place she could think he was going was his office. And that was where she found him standing by his desk, hand tight on the wood behind him. She stepped into his office before he could cross the room to close the door.

She shut it tight behind her.

"Teagan."

He watched her, eyes flashing with anger. His hands clenched, flexed, and he forced them flat again. He held his ground, arched a brow at her and still said nothing.

She needed words, words she didn't really have. She forced them out anyway, halting and stumbling. "Last night-" _Last night_. Last night, with all her anger, all the frustration, the wounded pride.

But that wasn't important, not now when he looked so angry. He hadn't looked like this after she had threatened to run him through, or after she had thrashed him in the yard. He hadn't looked like this when she had first ridden into his home.

She took a deep breath.

"The other day- you told me not to live in the past, and I said that I wouldn't, but I wasn't listening. Not really. You- you saw that last night. Well- now I am."

"And what _exactly_ does that mean?" he asked through still clenched teeth.

"I don't want to do it again. Following blindly." She found herself moving towards him, like he had when he had talked her down. "I _want_ to trust you. And I want to be able to- to tell you my opinions without them-

"Without them being ignored," she finished, voice quieter. She was close enough to feel his warmth - another step and she'd be against him. "I want to trust you, but I won't do it just because it's you. I won't agree or follow just because-"

Her voice caught.

He shook his head and his shoulders relaxed a little. "I never asked you to follow."

She let out a sigh. "If you want me to understand and help, I- I'll need to trust you. I need to come to it on my own." She swallowed, hard. "It's only this. This investigation. That's the only place where I stopped trusting you.

"I still don't agree with your decision to let him return home. That hasn't changed. But I- I don't want to fight you over it. I want to actually work _with_ somebody this time. I can't go back to how it was before. Not now."

She took that last half-step that brought them nearly chest to chest. She should have given him space, perhaps, should have backed away and left him to think, but she wanted him to understand that this was hard for her and that she wanted it anyway, that she regretted forcing him away the night before. That she had missed him.

"You said..." Teagan murmured, then dropped his gaze and closed his eyes for a moment. When he met her gaze again, he swallowed thickly. One of his hands reached for hers. "What changed?"

She colored at that. "I slept badly. Horrible dreams. About- about how it was eight months ago. I- Maker, that sounds stupid, but that was the reminder I needed." It shouldn't have been a dream. It should have been something he had said. Or done.

She looked down to where she had unconsciously twined their fingers together, then back up to him.

"... And you leaving last night. Eating dinner alone in my room. Assuming that whatever we'd been trying to fix before the mayor arrived - that I'd finally broken it. For good."

"No, not for good."

Cauthrien's lips twitched, just a little, and then she leaned in to brush her lips against his.

He returned the kiss, mouth fitting over hers. It wasn't gentle. It was needy and rough and filled with frustration. There was teeth there, along with insistent pressure, but then he pulled away. He took a step back from her. His teeth grabbed at his bottom lip, biting gently.

She wanted nothing more than to follow him, lose herself in touch so they could keep their mouths shut, keep their minds off of their work. But they did have work to do, words to speak, and so she let him pull away, not following.

"No," he whispered. "Not broken."

"Good," she said, smiling weakly. "I- I didn't want it to be. Last night-" She glanced away. "... My mother's sister was taken by the chevalier who held our land. Before I was born. But I was raised on stories about how he took her and we never saw her again. ... Her, a farmer's daughter, just like-" _Edlyn._

 _Me._

"... It's personal. Even though I was trying not to let it be." She searched his face for any sign of understanding, and when he nodded, slowly, she relaxed.

"I want your help-" he started out, then paused, the muscles of his throat jumping as he swallowed. "I want us to do this together."

"Even if I don't agree with you all the time?"

"Even then."

She felt that small, nervous smile come back, and she took a deep breath. "... We need to figure out what my role in this is. As investigator for the Queen. Who is in charge, that sort of thing."

He took a breath, nodded. "That’s wise. Ultimately, these people have pledged themselves to me. They could pledge themselves to a different bann, but they choose me. That makes me responsible for them in a way that the Queen isn’t." He nodded and then tilted his head just a little, looking at her for understanding. "Do you agree?"

Cauthrien nodded. "For all my- very loud opinions, yes, I do." She moved towards him again, but this time it was to lean against the desk near his side, shoulder to shoulder, not facing one another anymore. Her pulse was still strong in her wrists and belly, but when she looked up to him it was only with a small, allowing smile.

He watched her for just a moment, head canted, eyes half-lidded. "Then we are agreed," he murmured.

His eyes went to the door, where she had shut it behind her and then back to questioning little smile in return for hers. That decision behind them, he seemed more relaxed, hands resting lightly on the desk. After a moment of comfortable, almost pleased silence, he turned toward her, his hip against the desk and a hand sliding around to settle around her waist. She nearly withdrew, but then he bowed his head and touched his lips lightly to her throat and kissed the exposed skin there, drawing her closer to him.

There was still frustration there, a harder press of his fingers against her, an edge to his kisses with teeth against her neck - but there was relief, too, and longing, and she gasped, letting her head fall back. When she swallowed, she could feel her throat bob against his lips, his mouth sliding over her pulse, and she gripped the edge of the desk.

"Trust me," he murmured against her skin as he drew her to him and pressed her against the desk with the weight of his body. His voice sent shivering trembles through her. "That's all I want, just..."

A knock.

He didn't pull away, instead holding her more tightly still, and she let go of the desk to wrap her arms around him. He kissed a path up her throat until he could find her lips with his, nursing and teasing at her until she wanted nothing more than to let him push her back onto the desk again. She breathed his name when he pulled away to nip at her lower lip.

His name came, louder and more forcefully, from the other side of the door.

She swallowed, hands sliding to his chest to push him away. "Teagan," she repeated, more firmly, though her voice was thick and rough with need. If they could only let the world pass by for just a morning-

Whoever it was knocked again.

**\--**

He heard the knock again, followed by his name. Raud’s voice. Cauthrien protested again, hands firm on his chest as though she might push him away, but her voice was breathy and soft and sounded as though if he’d wanted it, they could’ve ignored everything on the other side of that door. He wanted that too. But Raud would not give up so easily and though it might be obvious to an observant eye what they had been up to, he knew he should let the older man into the office. With a wicked sort of grin, he smiled at Cauthrien and slowly pulled away, letting his hands fall back to his sides.

"That’ll be Raud, I imagine."

He ran a quick hand through his hair, straightened his doublet and then strode to the door and opened it.

Behind him, Cauth gathered herself back together. He could hear the rustling of fabric, and when he glanced to her, she had the collar of her arming jacket tugged up and was standing with her hand braced against the back of the nearby chair.

Teagan looked back at the open door, and his seneschal in the doorway. "Good morning Raud," he said, perhaps too cheerfully, as he gestured the older man into the office. He tugged at his sleeves as he made his way back to his desk.

"Seneschal Raud," Cauthrien greeted, inclining her head slightly. He tried not to look at her but his eyes slid over her anyway, the relief he felt surging once more and bringing a small smile to his lips.

But, there was work and his reconciliation with Cauthrien would have to wait.

"Ser Cauthrien and I were just discussing last night." He focused on Raud and cleared his throat. "Is Gerald here yet? And does he have the other suspects with him?" His smile had fallen by those last words and he tugged at his shirt again, trying to concentrate on the task at hand and not the heat that was still dissipating from his body.

"He is indeed my lord," Raud said with only a cursory and disapproving look to Cauthrien. "And he has several gentlemen with him, yes."

"Then, we will meet them," Teagan said coming out from behind the desk and heading towards the door. His face still felt flush and as he walked passed Raud he pressed a cool hand to his cheek. Cauthrien was only a few steps behind him, Raud following on her heels, and it all felt too close. Too crowded.

At the door, he looked back, "Raud, could you please bring ink and parchment with you?" The older man looked at him levelly, lips still set in his disapproving frown, but he nodded and turned back to the desk.

Once he and Cauthrien were back in the hall, alone, he tried to remain business-like. He couldn’t help the playful smile on his lips, though. "I left the original letter in my room, will you need it? If so, tell me now and I’ll send Raud after that as well."

"It would certainly be appreciated. The other writing samples from last night are in my room, as well, though I don't think I'll need them immediately." She reached back to tighten her ponytail, then hesitated. "Did you leave any marks on me?" she asked, turning to him and nibbling at her lower lip. "That he would have been able to see?"

He was tempted to lean back in again, to kiss her, no matter how close Raud was. He resisted and merely tilted his head for a better view.  

"No, none," he said shaking his head and managing to let a little disappointment slip into his voice. _Though we can work on that later_. With her returned to him, with the matter resolved- he forced the thoughts down. "You go ahead," he said, smoothing down the front of his doublet again. "I’ll ask Raud to grab the letter and catch up."

Cauthrien nodded, and he watched as she turned and headed with long, easy strides to the assembly hall.

With a quick turn on his heel he went back to the door of the office, and ducked his head inside. Raud was gathering blank parchment and looked up.

"My lord?"

"Raud-" he began, and then saw how full the man’s hands would be with parchment and ink. He stepped into the office for a moment, preparing to ask after the letter anyway. Instead he added, "Nevermind, carry on, I can do it myself."

Raud just nodded absentmindedly as Teagan exited the office. It only took a moment to reach his room and grab the folded letter. On his way back down the hall, he stopped at the door to Cauthrien’s guest chambers, thinking about what she had said about the writing samples.

With a shrug, he pushed her door open. Her desk was littered with samples, a letter to Anora she had been writing, his book _The History of Rainesfere_ sitting open. There was also a small ink blotch on the desk and floor beneath it where it looked like it had spilled at some point. He grinned at the mess - it seemed odd, for what he knew of Cauthrien - and gathered up the samples.

While he checked to make sure he had all of them, he got a better look at her note to Anora. He frowned after reading the last few lines- and wondered when Cauthrien had written it. He tried to tell himself that was what he earned for snooping around her desk and forced himself out of the room, barely remembering to close the door behind him. He put aside the resumption of his nerves and frustrations, focusing again on her apology, on the feel of her mouth against his. It didn't help bring his mind back to the work, but it did quiet his uncertainty.

Quick as he could, he made his way back down the hall, to find Gerald, the suspects and Cauthrien.

When Teagan entered, she moved to help him, murmuring a quick thank you. He handed her all the samples, keeping the original letter out, and passed that to her last. He was reluctant to turn from her, wanting to shut out the rest of the world just a little longer, but he stepped away. He greeted Gerald and looked over the men that were with him.

Gerald made brief introductions. All of the men were from Rainesfere or the surrounding farms and all spoke at least a smattering of Orlesian. Teagan introduced Ser Cauthrien in turn, just as Raud was arriving with the blank parchment and the ink so the men could write their samples. He turned the five suspects over to Cauthrien, earning a small smile and a short nod of thanks for his trust.

While she worked, Teagan took Gerald to the side and asked after the girl’s parents and of her supposed betrothal.

"They did not think to mention it. According to Edlyn’s parents, they hadn't completely settled the matter with the intended." Gerald shrugged and then added, "They seemed surprised anyone knew."

Teagan nodded, "I think we may need to go out again today. I’d like to see the blood in the daylight- and I think Ser Cauthrien might as well." He fought down the impulse to look to her, instead asking, "Any news in town?"

"No, my lord," Gerald shook his head.

"Good. Stay close."

He gave the mayor another nod and went back to listen to Cauthrien’s discussions with the men, trying not to stare too intently at her neck, or follow the line of it down her body while she talked. When the last man had finished his writing sample, she thanked all of them in Common, and they all seemed relieved to be returned from Orlesian. She turned to look at Teagan.

"They're all good."

He let Gerald and Raud see them out, staying with Cauthrien and turning to speak with her quietly. "Gerald told me that the parents haven’t settled the betrothal, that’s why they didn’t think to mention it to anyone. There was nothing to tell, yet."

With a shrug he added, "He’ll be back, I told him we might want to go back out to the farm this afternoon. Might be good to take a look during the day."

Cauthrien nodded, slowly. "Then Edlyn must have told Èdouard about it, for him to have known."

"If she was his student and she was as upset as he made her sound, do you think she would have vented her frustrations? Would it be uncommon for a girl her age?"

She frowned, looking down at the letter and the man's writing sample. "Maybe not. I just wish we knew more about their relationship- no matter what it was. He's still our best lead. I doubt I'd have much luck talking to him now, but perhaps while we're in town, you could speak to him?"

"If he is all we have to go on, then by all means, I’ll question him again."

"None of the men brought in today could write half so well as whoever wrote this letter."

She did not say _as Èdouard_ , but her insistent suspicions were clear as she continued. "We're left with only him, and there is _something_. His response- his explanation, it wasn't that of just a teacher. She never paid him, you know. Brought him things, on occasion, but nothing that would have earned his services, especially not when he only had a job as business at the butcher's allowed."

Teagan listened to her intently, nodding. He understood that they needed to talk to Èdouard again, no matter what either of them thought of the man.

"We’ll have Gerald ride back out with us to the farm then. On the way back we’ll stop at Èdouard’s and talk with him again."

He looked her over carefully, trying not to think about the letter to Anora on her desk. After a moment he found a smile and asked, "Is this a decent plan?"

She nodded, firmly. "Acceptable."

**\--**

"Food first, though," she added with a wry smile.

She had been about to suggest that they look over the writing samples together, on the verge of asking for his opinion on Èdouard's, but then her stomach had reminded her with a painful, empty throb that she had skipped breakfast.

He waved a hand back towards the hall. "You go. Eat. I’ll find Gerald and update him. I’ll bring the letters too if you don’t want to carry them."

"I'll take care of them," she said, gathering up the dried samples and folding them carefully. She tucked them away, thinking to move them to her saddlebag when they rode out, or else leave them in her room.

She nodded one last time to Teagan and he gave her a faint smile before he turned and followed the other men out of the meeting hall. Cauthrien in turn moved towards the dining hall, running over once more the evidence - or lack of it - she had found in her questioning of the Rainesfere men.

She had followed the same procedure. She addressed them in Orlesian, spoke to them about day-to-day things, noting those who could understand her words but could no long respond. She had no fear that any were hiding their knowledge - that would have come out in the wrong pattern of errors.

Two of the men she had ruled out from their conversation alone.

The writing test had been the same - just a few sentences, and two more of the men proved illiterate. That left one man, and while he could write, he could not write well.

Taking a seat and pulling food towards her, she frowned.

None of them could have written the letter, and she had told Teagan as much. She had made it clear that she still suspected Èdouard in the most allowing way she knew how; she only hoped that she had made progress in Teagan's agreement to talk to the Orlesian again.

She pulled only the original letter and Èdouard's sample out, reading them over and over again as she ate. She tried to finish her meal quickly, but her attention kept getting pulled to little turns of phrase. _All the stars in the sky. Turn away_ \- something in that was off. The lyricism in the note was clumsy in comparison, even if all the spelling and grammar were correct and were matches to what Èdouard had written her.

She couldn't set it straight in her mind, though, and she sighed, remembering to get down another piece of bread, another gulp of water.

Behind her, Teagan cleared his throat and she jumped.

"So, good reading then?"

"What? Oh-" She flushed, sitting up straighter and gathering the papers together, the original letter on top. She still wasn't ready to show them to him again, not yet, and she didn't want questions.

He didn't ask any. Instead, he rounded the table and sat down where he had been earlier that morning. After picking at some bread, he gave her a smile.

"You should put those down for a minute, eat something substantial."

"I didn't mean to delay us," she said, and she began to eat in earnest. A part of her suggested she slow down, though, with Teagan sitting across from her and smiling. After all, she had longed for this moment earlier in the day. A few more bites and she set her fork down, her appetite no longer quite so ravenous.

He quirked a brow. "Finished then? Everything should be prepared for us to ride out as soon as you’re ready." After taking a last drink, he pushed away from the table and stood up.

"I can be ready now," she said, picking up Èdouard's sample and the note and tucking them away with the others. Her stomach grumbled that she should have eaten more, but she smiled at him and circled around the table to join him. They walked to the stables together.

**\--**

When they arrived back at the farm, they didn’t need much help to find their way back to the spot where the blood had been- where they thought Edlyn had disappeared from. The ground was still stained but it was already fading into the grass and dirt and Teagan didn’t think it would be there much longer.

"It’s already disappearing," he said as they approached.

He bent down, as he and Cauthrien had the day before and looked closer at the ground. He frowned at it and tapped the soil with a finger thoughtfully. Something was off, aside from there being too little blood.

Looking up at Gerald, he asked, "Was no one in the house when she disappeared?" Then to both Cauthrien and Gerald, "Did no one hear her?"

Gerald shrugged, "Her mother was inside all day, she said. Didn’t hear a thing."

Teagan shook his head and stared at the ground. "You would think she would make some noise... that someone would have heard her."

"If she was taken from here alive, if she struggled, almost certainly," Cauthrien said, looking between the two men for a moment before she crouched down, hands running over the grass. She made three passes before pausing, a frown creasing her brow. She picked up something, holding it up to the light - a hair, short and straight, dark brown and perhaps three to four inches at the longest

"How did Edlyn wear her hair? And what color was it?"

Gerald looked at Cauthrien, then to her hand. "She had light hair. I believe her mother said she had it in a braid the last they saw her." He looked to Teagan, an worried expression on his face, and shook his head. "That’s not hers."

Teagan raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and looked back to the treeline where Cauthrien had said the blood trail led. He sighed. There hadn't been enough blood, she had been next to the house, but if she had made a sound it wasn’t loud enough to get anyone’s attention, and it wasn't her hair in the grass.

"So," Teagan started, looking back at the ground and then to strand of hair Cauthrien held, though it was hard to make out in the light. "Who does that belong to, then?"

"Èdouard," she said, slowly, tensely, "has blonde hair to his chin. So it is not his." She plucked a few more of the strands from the grass. She stood, bringing them over to show Teagan.

She added, "... I don't think this is human."

Warily, he looked at the strand. "So, what does it belong to? What animal?" With a glance back to the ground he added, "That may fit with the matter of the blood- if it’s not human-"

With the letter and the blood, it looked obviously like something had taken place on that spot the night before. Now, they were looking at the hair of what- an animal? Perhaps the blood of the same - or had she been attacked? If so, why didn’t she scream out?

Teagan shook his head. "So, where do we go from here? Do you still want to talk to Èdouard again?"

"We should." She growled softly, pinching at the bridge of her nose. "I've been reading over that damn letter all morning, and there's something- off about it. I can't figure out what it is, though. But it's not like the writing sample he gave us.

"I'm still not comfortable with how he reacted to knowing about her betrothal, though. He may know _something_."

Tegan nodded and looked thoughtfully at Cauthrien. If the letter was wrong-

"Gerald, are her parents nearby? Ser Cauthrien and I will ride back to town to speak with Èdouard. See if Edlyn ever received other letters like the one we found here- if he wrote her once, maybe he wrote her before?"

"I'll see to it, my lord."

He tucked his braid behind his ear and added, to Cauthrien, "Maybe there will be another letter you can study after we speak with Èdouard.

She looked to Teagan. "I still think you should be the one to sit down with him." She paused before continuing, " _Your Orlesian is good enough, yes_?"

" _You heard me last night, did you not? What do you think_?" He gave her a cautious smile, aware that Gerald was still nearby.

" _Could use some practice_ ," she said, but it was surprisingly light and accompanied with an answering smile, and she shrugged. " _But more than good enough for this_."

He barely managed to restrain his smile to keep from teasing her in turn. Instead, he looked away from her and schooled his expression. Catching Gerald's eye, he said, "Bring anything you find to us, either at Èdouard’s or at my estate."

The mayor nodded and disappeared around the corner of the house in search of Edlyn’s parents. Teagan hoped that there might be something else for them, another clue that would get them closer to figuring out what happened to the girl.

" _I haven’t had much need of it_ ," he said, turning back to Cauthrien with an open smile now that Gerald had gone. It was an odd moment - playful, despite the circumstances - and it made Teagan eager to be away from the house.

"We should go," he said and gestured back towards their horses. "Unless there’s something else you want to look for?"

"There is. A moment?" She went back to where she had found the blood trail the night before and bent her head to it in brighter light. She made it further out this time before seem to lose it, turning to walk back. And then she hesitated and continued in the direction the trail had been going. It had been nearly a straight line, and led to the hedgerow.

He followed behind at a distance, watching. At twenty paces, she froze for a moment, then shook her head. She picked up her pace to a jog and called out for Teagan to follow.

As he approached the spot where Cauthrien had paused, he caught the first unmistakable note of rot on the air. The closer he got to her, the stronger the smell.

"What _is_ that?" he asked when he first saw the shadowed bulk of something lying at Cauthrien's feet.

It wasn’t human, but it was dead and broken and it smelled awful. It wasn’t as bad as darkspawn, or a battlefield of dead soldiers, but it was still strong. As he took a few steps closer, the mass started to take on a shape in the shadows of the trees.

"... Is that a goat?"

Cauthrien pulled the animal's head up by one horn. "Goat, yes. Fresh, too. Not more than a day."

The animal, where it wasn't covered in blood, was a dark brown color. It had a rope tied around its neck, and when she probed the area with her fingers, she frowned. "Windpipe crushed, I think."

When he could take his eyes from it at last, he looked around the area. Besides the area where he and Cauthrien stood, there were a few indentations in the ground. He took a step back, then crouched to get a better look.

"Footprints?" he asked, glancing up to her.

She turned to look where he was looking, letting the animal's head fall back to the ground. She crouched down, uncaring of the mud or the rotting animal beside her. "... Yes, I think so." Cauthrien tilted her head, frowned. "... Two sets?"

He studied the ground near Cauthrien. "It does look like two sets. If she’s alive, was she here? Is she uninjured?" He shook his head, frowning. The more they found, the less it made sense. "Did someone bring her here- did she follow someone?"

After a moment, he stood and took another look around the area, avoiding the goat carcass and the footsteps surrounding it.

Cauthrien stayed where she was, watching him. "I don't know. Do you know how tall she was?" One of the sets of footprints appeared small - but she was tall and so both sets were smaller than her own. It was hard to tell. "One set of prints is larger than the other, but I'm not sure what that means. She could have been here. But- with _who_?"

She frowned, rising and looking down at the goat. "... Unless whoever did this was experienced with animals, killing a goat like this would take a lot of work. You'd need two people." Cauthrien sighed. "She might not even be injured - it's possible that none of that blood was hers. This goat," she said, tapped one of its hooves with her toe, "is bled out." Her brow furrowed. "Do you think-"

She hesitated.

"... Perhaps she didn't go with Èdouard unwillingly? Two sets of footsteps away from here..."

"It’s possible."

He was less certain now that Èdouard had not been involved. Cauthrien’s idea about the blood, made it at least seem plausible. But if Edlyn had gone willingly, why had they wanted to make it look like a violent death?

He sighed. "So that still means we go talk to Èdouard and see if there’s anything else that he knows." Teagan shrugged, uncertain of what else they could do. He started back for the treeline, sparing a glance for Cauthrien as he passed her.

Cauthrien followed him out, wiping her hands on her thighs. "If Edlyn is still alive- and more importantly, since it appears none of the blood was hers to begin with, unharmed-" She frowned. "... We need to tell the family. If not today, then soon."

He nodded but continued towards his horse. "We’ll talk to Èdouard. And wait for word from Gerald about the possibility there were other letters."

As he stopped, ready to mount his horse, he looked back to Cauthrien. "But, you’re right. If we don’t know anything else more than that- they should know that she might be out there somewhere. I’m just not sure that’s much better, if we can’t find her."

"At least she wasn't killed right outside of their home, with nobody there to hear it. They should know that." Cauthrien smiled tightly, then swung up onto Calenhad's back. "After the day's investigations, we'll tell them."

"You’re right, I suppose. It’s better to know." He shook his head and then mounted his horse.

"Though I probably shouldn't be there," she added after a pause, one hand resting on the horn of her saddle.

"I think you should be," he countered easily. "It’s good for people to see you helping."

"If you think so," she said as she swung up into her saddle.

"I do."

It was not only for slightly selfish reasons that he wanted to include her. He had already told her that people were moving on, learning to live after the Blight. It was good to see someone like Cauthrien also moving on - doing what she could - even if that meant just helping a family find their daughter and not somehow setting right, all the damage her actions or inactions had caused.

It might not make up for everything, but it was a start.

He wanted to say more about it, about her help, and he even opened his mouth again to do so. But as the thoughts came to him he dismissed them. He worried how they might sound to her, especially coming from him and especially in the wake of the night before.

So instead, he shrugged and said, "Let’s go."

She nodded, nudging Calenhad's flanks to get him moving. The horse whickered as she pulled him away from the discarded apple core he'd found, but then moved into an easy trot as they headed north, towards town.

Cauthrien spoke again once Edlyn's farm was firm behind them. "We should also talk to the butcher, Oswin. See if he noticed anything odd about Edlyn the last time she came by. I also want to know how often and why she was there- her family should have been raising and slaughtering at least some of their own meat at this time of the year. She may have been by more often because of Èdouard."

He considered. She was right, of course; if Edlyn spent any time at the butcher’s then Oswin should know her and her family.

"It's a good idea. Do you want to go there, to try and talk to Oswin while I go to talk with Èdouard again? If so, we might learn more, more quickly?"

"And it will make Èdouard more likely to cooperate if I'm absent," she said, smiling grimly. "Is it on the main square of town? We can meet up afterwards back at Edlyn's family's farm."

"They’re not so far from each other- Èdouard’s house is close to Oswin’s shop. We can meet back at the farm, or we can meet up outside depending on how we finish."

Cauthrien nodded. He didn’t press the issue further, knowing that they would figure it out once they arrived. He smiled at her and pressed forward; she kept close behind him as they entered the town proper. She rode close enough to Teagan to catch his eye and give him a small, lighter smile, one of camaraderie and not nervousness, not focus on the job

"I'll look for you when I'm done," she said and broke away from him.

That smile she gave him, it was- friendly. It was nice. He watched her ride on before nudging his horse down towards Èdouard’s house. There were still guards out front and looked much the same as it had the night before. He knocked out of courtesy but proceeded inside to talk to Èdouard without giving the Orlesian much time to respond.

After seeing Teagan in through the front door, Èdouard sat back at the small table set up by the hearth. Teagan thought the older man looked defeated, hands folded in front of him on the table. It also looked like he might not have slept much the night before. As much as Teagan wanted to think this man was innocent, he couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was real, how much was contrived, or if the late night had been from hiding something from him or his guards.

Teagan sat across from Èdouard and tried to smile, tried to appear pleasant. " _Monsieur Èdouard_ ," he began, " _I need to ask you a few more questions, please_." There was a hint of tension to his voice, and he tried to focus on his Orlesian, remembering Cauthrien’s teasing.

" _Certainly, Bann Teagan_ ," he said. " _Has there been no news about Edlyn_?" Èdouard's brows furrowed in worry.

Teagan shook his head, braid coming loose from behind his ear. He tucked it away and bowed his head, building up confidence for his next question. " _No. I came hoping you could better explain to me about your relationship with her_."

Èdouard frowned and then waved a hand angrily at Teagan. " _I explained to that... woman yesterday_."

" _I know_ ," Teagan said. He watched Èdouard for a moment. There was something to this man’s outrage. He remembered the question that Cauthrien had asked just as Teagan had arrived back at the chantry the night before. He wasn’t sure that it was an necessary question, but he agreed that there was something else worth investigating here.

" _But I need to know why she would tell you about her betrothal when it wasn’t finalized yet. Or why she was so intent to learn Orleasian- to move to Orlais? Or let’s start with why you wouldn’t take payment for her lessons._ "

Èdouard shrugged. " _I already said- I met her after I moved here. She wanted to learn Orlesian and I helped her._ " He was angrier now, dark eyes flashing as he looked at Teagan. " _I was also new here when I met her the first time- when she asked about it. It’s just a language, it felt wrong to take her money_."

With a sigh, Teagan rose to his feet. He knew how strongly Cauthrien believed there was something more here- that something about Èdouard seemed wrong. But Teagan didn’t see it. He saw a man that had come back to his land to make a new, different life for himself and who had tried to do something decent for a neighbor, perhaps as a way to atone for something he had never done.

Still, they needed anything he knew. He stayed close to the table, one hand settled on the wood. " _I’m sorry. What about her betrothal? Why would she tell you_?"

" _Because she had just learned of it the day before- because she didn’t want it- she wanted to tell someone_?" Èdouard gestured absently and shook his head again. Then, he smiled a bit sadly and added, " _Her head was always in the clouds. Dreaming. The betrothal, it- it was unexpected- she was very sad about it_."

Teagan listened, and to him it sounded as though Édouard had thought it all very innocent. Edlyn was innocent to him. Otherwise, if he was lying, then he was very, very good at it. He reminded himself to check with the guards outside again before he left, just to be sure they hadn’t seen anything strange the night before. It was all he and Cauthrien had right now.

He switched back to Common as he inclined his head and said, "Thank you Èdouard. I’m sorry we’ve had to do this again."

Èdouard also stood and after a moment, he nodded. "I think I understand. I do hope the _little flower_ is alright."

Teagan had started to step away from the table, but with that, he turned back to Èdouard, fixing him with a stern glance, a break from his pleasant, noble appearance. " _And what is that? Little flower_?"

The other man flinched and then gave him a curious glance, brow arched in question. " _Little flower? It- It’s a nickname I used for her- she was so interested in learning and it was the first thing I gave her to practice_."

Teagan’s shoulders relaxed again and he leaned away, turning back towards the door. It made sense, in a way- though it seemed more... grandfatherly, something Èdouard wasn’t. It was the one thing that, with Edlyn’s note, that still seemed too strange- still gave them reason to suspect him.

And yet even that, Teagan couldn't doubt as much as he had.

Finally, he nodded, "Thank you for your time Èdouard."

Outside, he confirmed with both guards that Èdouard had not left the house over night, or through the morning. Neither of them reported anything out of the ordinary, nor had Èdouard attempted to leave, or do anything other than offer the both of them breakfast. Too kind for a man locked in his home. And Teagan was starting to really believe that was just the sort of man Èdouard was, a kindly Orlesian, the last thing most Fereldens would expect of him.

**\--**

After Calenhad was tied to a hitching post, Cauthrien hesitated outside the the butcher shop. Interrogating an Orlesian man was one thing. Questioning a working Rainsfere native? Quite another.

For one thing, he would be predisposed to hate her from the beginning.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and went in.

She was met by the odor and noise of several chickens and ducks, along with the smell of smoked, cured, and raw meat. She hadn't had the opportunity to be in a butcher's store in many years, and for a moment, it was overwhelming. There were two people in the room besides herself and a man who from his apron appeared to be the butcher himself. They were engaged in haggling over the haunch of a cow. Cauthrien stood back and let it wash over her, observing who she thought must be Oswin.

He was older than Èdouard, a tall man with muscular arms and a round belly, a moustache that drooped off of his face, and very little remaining hair on his head. He had a soft voice and small, sharp eyes. He said little, but as far as she could tell, the transaction went in his favor.

And when they were left alone, he barely spared her a glance before walking behind his work table and counter, where a half of what looked like a lamb lay in the middle of being disassembled into various cuts.

"Yes?"

"Are you Oswin?" she asked, stepping more fully into the room and taking a closer look at some sausages that hung from one of the hooks in the rafters.

She almost didn't catch his nod.

"I'm here on behalf of Bann Teagan, and the family of a girl, Edlyn."

"She dead?"

"Missing," she clarified after a brief pause. "I'm looking into her disappearance."

"I heard," he said, lifting a thin-bladed boning knife and setting to work defleshing the tips of a cut of rib, "that you think Èdouard's involved? Whole town's talking about it today, along with how our bann is working with the woman who would have killed us all."

He didn't look up at her, and so he didn't see her flinch. "Both of those things are true," she grudgingly admitted, "though I am here now to assist."

He grunted, continuing to work.

"I only have a few questions," Cauthrien continued, "and I would be grateful if you could answer them."

"I'm working."

"I can see that, yes," she said, one hand clenching into a fist at her side. "As am I. Perhaps we can both work at the same time."

"And if I don't feel like talking to you?" He finally glanced up. "Going to accuse me of treason against Ferelden?"

This time he did see her flinch- and look away, jaw clenching. "No. I will just thank you for your time, leave, and ask Bann Teagan if he would be able to sit with you instead."

"He listen to you a lot?"

"Only when he likes what I have to say."

That earned her a laugh, and it surprised her into looking back to him. "Smart man, our bann. Always has been." Oswin grinned at her for a brief moment, then shook her head and set down his knife, leaning forward, his bared elbows gaining a fresh stain of red where he rested them against the wood of the table. "Ask away, then. I'll kick you out if I don't like what you have to say, I guess."

Cauthrien nodded, and came closer to the table.

"Let's start with the girl, Edlyn. How long has she been coming here?"

Oswin shrugged. "A few years. Since she was old enough to, at least."

"Her family owns livestock, though - at least chickens and a few pigs, from what I saw."

"Aye, but not cattle. And sometimes they're too busy to take care of spring slaughterings, so Edlyn would bring the animals to town for me to do the work for them." He shrugged. "Common enough, with the small farms here."

Cauthrien nodded. "How often would she come in, then? Once a year?"

"A few times. At first it was just once or twice a year, but she was coming more often, last little bit. Once a month - sometimes more. Said her mother had taken a liking to some of the sausages I make." He looked momentarily pleased and proud of that, and Cauthrien considered purchasing some for Teagan's kitchens in return.

"When did she meet Èdouard? When you hired him?"

"A few months after that."

"Is that when she first started coming more often?"

Oswin frowned, then shrugged. "Maybe. Hard to tell. But yeah, I guess it was around the same time. They interacted a little."

Cauthrien pursed her lips, coming to lean on the other side of the table. "What sorts of jobs did you have Èdouard doing? Did he help with slaughtering the animals?" Her mind went to the goat in the hedgerow.

"No, he didn't always have the stomach for it. I usually take them out in the yard out back for that - Èdouard would stay in here. I taught him how to make sausages and brines and how to take apart a chicken. That's about it."

Cauthrien nodded. He wouldn't have been able to handle the goat on his own, then. He would have needed a second person.

"Did you know he was teaching Edlyn, Orlesian? When he wasn't working for you?"

Oswin shrugged again. "No idea when he started, but the last few times she came by, she would use it to say hello to him. So yeah, I knew."

"And that he wasn't charging her?"

"He's not the sort to." Oswin wiped a hand on his apron, then ran a hand over his balding head. "So it doesn't surprise me."

Cauthrien drummed her fingers on the wood, her question from the night before rising quickly to the forefront of her mind again. "To the best of your knowledge, were they- involved?"

That earned another laugh, but it was dark and more than a little insulted. "None of my business. But no, I don't think so. She was- is- a naive sort of girl, head in the clouds. And Èdouard's got eyes for more mature women, no matter how much trouble that gets him into. Besides, my boy, Owen- he would've said something."

"He would have?"

"Was sweet on Edlyn for a while, back when she first started coming around. I warned him off of her fast, though. Too young. And when he's older, he'll need the sort of woman who doesn't mind getting her hands dirty. Edlyn shirks - don't need her sort in the shop here as anything but a customer."

Cauthrien looked around, frowning. "Is Owen here?"

"No. He's off on a trip to the next town over, picking up an order of salt from me, come all the way from the Waking Sea."

"When did he leave?"

Oswin leaned back and picked up his knife again, going back to work. Cauthrien took the hint and straightened, stepping back.

"Yesterday. He went to one of the other farms, over west, to pick up one of their wethers they wanted me to take care of. Their fields just flooded - they've been too busy to bring it in to town themselves.

"Of course, the fool boy let the thing get loose," he sighed. "But it'll turn up sooner or later - will probably find its way right back home. Wethers'll do that, sometimes, like a good dog. Anyway, Owen stopped in, gave the bad news, and I sent him on over to Hertwig."

Cauthrien frowned, crossing her arms over her chest, fingers resuming their tattoo on her upper arm. She wanted to talk to the boy- especially if he had once had a crush on Edlyn. It was always possible, after all, that he had just gotten very good at hiding that crush from his father.

But it still didn't fit, not quite, not even as Èdouard looked less likely.

She was just about to ask if the boy could write when Oswin interrupted her. "No reason to talk about Owen, though- like I said, he's been doing work for me the last few days." He fixed her with an unwavering, challenging gaze, and Cauthrien backed down.

"Of course," she said, despite her lingering uncertainty. "Edlyn- when she started coming more often, was it on days Èdouard was working?"

"No." His gaze turned to a glare. "Èdouard," he said, voice turning caustic, "is a good man, especially for an Orlesian. A bit odd, and reclusive, but a good man."

"We found a letter-"

"Not interested. Èdouard is a _good man_. End of discussion. He didn't go trying to look up Edlyn's skirts, not recently, not when they first met." He shook his head, lifted his blade to point it to the door. "And as I'm not liking what you're implying - trying to keep on accusing one of _my_ neighbors - I think it's time for you to go."

"But if he _did_ -"

"If he did, the Maker will reveal him, not you."

Cauthrien opened her mouth to protest, to push on about the letter, but instead retreated. She still had questions, so many of them, about Èdouard and about Edlyn and about Owen, but she closed her mouth tight and reached for the door instead.

The only words she let out were, "I'm sorry to have taken your time, Oswin." And then she stepped out onto the street, taking a shuddering breath.

In the war, she would have arrested the man for refusing to cooperate, may have even had him tortured. But things done in war were done in war only, and were done still with a sense of reluctance, a distant knowledge that those actions were not ones carried out happily. To think of them now-

No.

She looked around for Teagan, or at least his horse, and when she saw him just across the way, she smiled tightly and turned back to Calenhad.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late summer picnic gives occasion for Teagan to practice symmetry and discretion- and Cauthrien to try valiantly to keep them both on task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: None

Teagan watched as Cauthrien left the butcher’s shop. She moved with quick, angry strides and jerked Calenhad's lead as she worked at unhitching the garron. His own conversation with Èdouard had been mostly fruitless, and it didn't look as if she had better news.

With a quicker pace for both he and his horse, he closed the distance between them, calling out a ‘hello’ with another wave. After this morning, he was ready to get another moment alone with Cauthrien. Not there in the street, but he tried to think of where they could go to talk, to be away from the town and his estate, provided she had only frustration from her meeting with the butcher and not have pressing news.

She straightened up and looked to him, nodding. Her expression was tight, though, and his hopes faltered before he decided to simply press forward.

He watched her with a clear smile while he approached, and when he was near enough, he asked, “Learn anything useful?” And then, before she could answer, he followed it with, “And do we have time for lunch?”

It took a moment for Cauthrien to respond, but when she did, her voice was even and almost relieved. "Some useful, yes. A lot confusing. I- yes, lunch sounds wonderful, but what about talking to Edlyn's family...?"

“I was thinking,” Teagan said stretching his words out playfully, hoping she would respond in kind, “that we could have a nice lunch, discuss what we’ve learned, and what to tell Edlyn’s parents.”

A little time and distance from Cauthrien, brief as it had been, made him only happy to see her, even under their current circumstances. Her letter to Anora was forgotten and he looked forward to sitting somewhere with her, even if just for a little while.

“We don’t need to go back to the estate. We can find something from town to eat and perhaps ride a ways? Find a place between here and the farm to sit and eat?”

Cauthrien hesitated again, looking down and letting go of the knot that she had been undoing. "That sounds nice," she finally said, tight smile turning somewhat embarrassed. "... Oswin sells what looks like good sausage. I was going to pick some up for your kitchens, actually. Though if we want any, it'd be best if you went in. And were prepared for some pointed looks."

“I think we can manage.” He shook his head. That seemed too awkward. “To go in so soon after your questions- no, it would seem odd. Perhaps it would be best to give it some time and find something else to eat.”

He eyed her curiously for a moment, wondering if she would explain where the tension in her shoulders came from. “Unless I need to go in? Was it- was he not forthcoming?”

"No, I just pushed too hard and he- kicked me out." She flushed a little. "He's certain that Èdouard isn't involved in Edlyn's disappearance, so my questions didn't go over well. Still- I may have learned something interesting. I'll tell you late-"

Calenhad danced back sharply. He had managed to undo the knot that Cauthrien had loosened, and the soldier swore under her breath and moved to catch hold of his bridle.

He watched her horse start and grinned as she reached after him. “Perhaps we should get that food before these two stage a revolt. A nice field should suit them, and us.”

She laughed as she gave Calenhad's bridle a sharp pull. "Shall we eat grass as well, then?" she asked, before turning to look at Calenhad. She shook her head and frowned slightly, and the horse stamped his front hoof, impatiently. With a sigh she let go, only to swing herself onto his back.

Teagan let out a laugh and then swung up on his own horse. “No, I don’t think we’ll get much nourishment that way. But I think there’s a place down the way here where we could grab something-” He waved a hand towards the other end of the road and nudged his horse forward. “I can go in and get something for us both.”

"Bann Teagan, doing the day's shopping," she said, dryly, but the smile she sent him next was more relieved than any of her others had been. "On the way in I saw in one of the common fields a small grove of willows- we can meet there." Her words were a little hurried and though she was smiling, her eyes slid from him when he tried to catch her gaze.

She seemed nervous, maybe realizing what he was getting at- a nice meal, just the two of them, away from prying eyes. He laughed.

“You go on ahead then,” he said. “I’ll do the shopping.”

He negotiated his horse around towards the shop he had indicated earlier. And then, after giving her another grin, eyes twinkling, he nudged his horse forward down the road. Behind him he heard her murmur soft to her horse, and then the answering cadence of hooves on packed dirt as she headed out of town.

As he approached the building - a bakery, from the sign hanging outside - and dismounted, he wondered about what exactly he should pick them up for lunch. He wanted something light, simple, but he was making a gesture-

This was not treating her like a guest, or a hand of the Queen, this was courting. It was something Teagan hadn’t tried to do in a very long time, even with his interest in the Warden-Commander. He hitched his horse to the nearby rail and thought about what that meant. He hadn’t exactly been courting the Lady Cousland, merely... expressing an interest. One he had only begun to learn wasn’t really mutual.

With Cauthrien, it was different- much different. Still, they had less than a month-

Maker.

He pulled open the door to the baker’s and wondered what he was doing. What was he really doing, playing this game - a very potentially politically volatile game - and did that matter to him at all?

Ignoring the sideways glances and soft whispers behind lifted hands, he made his purchase and left the shop, still lost in thought. After facing down Cauthrien’s sword, she had followed him home. That meant something more to him- perhaps more than a month was going to provide them. He had never thought that way before, and it left him nervous and uncomfortable.

Teagan led his horse, walking instead of riding down the road and around to the main square. A vendor there had fresh fruits available and he was grateful for the good weather that provided their availability. On his way back out of town, he stopped a last time, stepping into a shop to buy some cheese. He was more aware this time and tried to to appear polite, smiling and nodding to those that stared at him.

When he was done, he made sure everything was wrapped and stored securely before swinging back up on his horse. On the ride out of town and towards Cauthrien, he tried to force everything out of his mind. Whatever it was between them, he wanted the time they had to be more pleasant- to keep from repeating the same up and down cycle they had been facing the past few days. If they could do that and figure out what had happened to Edlyn, the month would be a happy one. It seemed strange to think of it that way, but he was willing to spend the month as best he could and whatever the Maker had for him after that would have to be enough.

**\--**

They were going to have a private, outdoor lunch, just like a pair of indolent nobles courting one another, an echo of how huntsmen or farmers would eat in the middle of the day but without the same weight of work on them. It made her want to laugh. It made her want to turn him down, to take him aside and point out the ridiculousness of what they were doing. She was grateful for the respite in the tension between them, more than grateful, but the constant up and down of their regard for one another was exhausting. They truly were two fools playing at whatever their relationship was.

But somehow, that made her feel more than good.

The sun was past its highest point as she left town, the day entering its hottest period, but there was a breeze that must have originated from the Frostbacks for all its welcome chill. There was nobody in the fields, everybody having gone inside to eat or to rest out of the sun, and the momentary peace helped her resettle herself after her talk with Oswin. She couldn't shake the feeling that the son, Owen, was important- but she hadn't been able to ask more, like if he was literate or had picked up any Orlesian from working with Èdouard, and Oswin had been convinced that Owen's infatuation with Edlyn was gone and past.

And Oswin was an observant man.

She and Calenhad drew up on the willows, and she dismounted. She removed his bit and let him wander, grazing, while she went into the trees to find the water they grew around. After splashing her face at the cool, murmuring little stream, she moved back into the sunlight and settled down.

There were other animals in the common field, some cattle, some goats, all belonging to the people of the town who had no land of their own to keep their animals on during the day. She watched them move.

She found herself smiling, remembering her old life. She had never been quite like how Oswin had described Edlyn, head-in-the-clouds, but she had looked at the horizon and wondered about other places. She'd taken the opportunity to get out of her life when it was presented to her, instead of staying to marry another local boy and have five children and a small farm.

Cauthrien shed her arming jacket, boots, and socks, lounging back in the grass. She very rarely let herself think of what her life would have been like, had she stayed in her little village by the Hafter River - of what she had, in a way, given up. Children weren't one of those things, given her barren womb, but there had been so much else...

She pushed herself up onto her elbows when she heard hoofbeats in the grass, and lifted an arm to hail Teagan. Calenhad had wandered into the willows; she could hear him, the snapping of fallen branches beneath his hooves, his irritated snort whenever he got himself a bit tangled.

It was- pleasant.

Teagan waved in response on his approach and when he was close, dismounted and let his horse wander on it’s own as hers did. He brought a bundle of food to her and laid it on the ground nearby.

With a grin, he leaned down and stole a kiss from her cheek before sitting down next to her. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long. I made several stops-”

She touched her face where his lips had been, cheeks colored. She leaned forward as he started to unwrap the food to show her his purchases. He smiled at her. “Bread, fruit, cheese- not exactly like eating at my table but good enough for a pleasant outdoor lunch by the water?”

She shook her head, smiling faintly. "You went out of your way. You're spoiling me. Bread and water would have been more than enough, you know."

With a shake of his head, he said, “I want to do it.” After a moment he shrugged and reached out for the hand she still touched to her face, lacing his fingers around hers, pulling them away. With his free hand, he finished unwrapping the food and picked out a berry for himself.

She looked down to where their hands were joined and hesitated a moment before she leaned towards him to tear off a hunk of bread.

"Even after last night's- awkwardness?"

A mild way to put it; she was learning, around him, to phrase things lightly, to avoid the stark reality when both parties knew what it was without speaking.

With a nod he popped the berry into his mouth. “Even still. We’re due a nice, discreet meal.” His lips twitched up into another smile and he quirked an eyebrow at her as he reached down for another berry. His eyes scanned the length of her body, and then he pursed his lips, head tilted as his gaze carried the rest of the way up to meet hers.

She finished off the morsel of bread, but paused before reaching for some of the cheese. She looked down to their hands again, and frowned. "... We are," she agreed. "But you don't need to win me back with gifts, you know."

That accusing tone of voice she had used so often when commenting on his decisions was absent, and she glanced back up to him nervously. She appreciated the lunch, she did, but she also remembered times when her discontent was rewarded with gifts she could not turn down: confidences, an inspection of her men that left her preening with pride, a sword won by Loghain during the war to push out the Orlesians-

His easy smile fell a little. Without any of the playfulness that had been there a moment before, he said, “This is not about trying to win you- to buy your affections. This is about sharing a nice lunch. About showing you-” he paused and broke the silence for moment by reaching for more food. “Showing you-”

She opened her mouth to speak, then reached for a berry instead.

And offered it to him.

That was something that she hadn't done before, that made this not a moment of him offering a prize and her thanking him for it. No, if he said this was just so he could share lunch with her, then she would share lunch with him.

"Showing me what?" she asked.

He looked at the proffered berry and leaned down to eat it from her hand. She had thought he would take it from her with his fingers, not his lips, and the soft, smooth touch of his mouth to her fingers made her shiver before she could stop herself, drew a quiet, surprised noise from her.

She could barely meet his eyes as he pulled back, preferring to look at him through her lashes rather than straight on. She reached for more food for herself, sitting up fully, her posture becoming more guarded.

With another shrug he started again. “It’s not about buying your affections. It's about showing you- mine.” He flushed at the words and looked away, catching his lower lip for just a moment between his teeth.

"I- you're quite good at showing yours," she assured him, then took a nibble of cheese and reached for the waterskin. "I haven't been in much doubt of them."

“And yet? Does it make you nervous-” his hand turned in a vague gesture, “more than the political possibilities?” He looked back up to her face, hopes and nerves wrapped up into his parted lips, his creased brow.

"... Yes?" She smiled, though, instead of frowning. She shifted again and ran one finger along his where their hands were still joined. "I've told you before- Loghain was not like this. And before that, there- wasn't anything."

This was new. Confusing. Intoxicating, too, and she carefully settled back down next to him, closer than before.

"It's like you're-" _Courting? Romancing? Flattering?_ She didn't know what word to use. "It's like I'm still a farmer's daughter, in that respect."

**\--**

“And would you like me to stop?”

He asked it with a coy tilt of his head to look at her better. Even if they were actually close in age, she had often seemed young to him. The thought of her having not been courted by anyone gave him pause. They had moved quickly. But despite their hiccups, the misunderstandings and conflicts, the speed was not what bothered her.

It was the tenderness.

It was the tenderness, the romance of it that made her nervous. He grinned at the thought. But romance was where he felt more at ease, where he could be playful and test boundaries and personalities.

“I will admit to being out of practice myself,” he said with a soft smile. He was tempted, very tempted, to lean into her neck, to pause the conversation entirely for something more immediate. But it was obvious this was something they needed to work out, so he held off and added, “But, I’ll stop if you ask.”

After a moment's hesitation, she said, "I- should want you to stop. But I don't."

She returned his smile with another tentative one of her own before reaching for another piece of bread, pinching it and a slice of cheese between her thumb and forefinger. She paused just a moment before bringing it back to her lips.

"It's... nice," Cauthrien confessed.

“I am very glad to hear you say so,” he said, squeezing her hand in return and running his thumb across her fingers. Once he finished the piece of bread he had broken off for himself, he reached down for another berry. This time, instead of bringing it to his own lips, he held it up to hers. “I would have stopped, but I really didn’t want to.”

That earned him a small laugh, and she carefully took the berry, her lips brushing lightly over his fingers. She pulled the berry free of his grip with a light swipe of her tongue, then sat back.

"I could tell," she assured him again. "I may not understand the why of whatever you do, but I can see what you do clearly enough."

He also laughed, but it was a small breathy thing as he pulled his fingers away from her. Without another hesitation, he leaned into her then, turning enough so that he could kiss her neck just below her ear. After a second kiss he whispered, “I hope that soon enough you’ll see both.”

She whispered, voice strained, a murmur of, "Discretion," but then her free hand reached across between them to come to rest on his hip, her eyes going half-lidded as she bit at her lower lip, restraining a quiet, pleased sigh. She tugged him closer, looking down at him as she shivered.

They were outside, near enough to town that a part of him thought to pull away to regain some of her well-reminded discretion. But the rest of him was eager to finish something they had started once already; to be stymied again felt like it might be too much.

He smiled against her neck but did not pull away, only lifting his head long enough to find her lips. His free had reached up, thumb on her neck, his fingers wrapping up behind her head as he kissed her. After a moment, he moved again, tilting her head with his hand so he could leave kisses on her throat.

Fingers itching to touch, he extricated his other hand from hers and lifted it to tug her tunic from her shoulder just a little, so he could kiss the skin below. It drew a strangled sigh from her and a breathed, " _Maker_ , what are you doing-"

Her question barely registered and he didn't pull away. Instead, he let his tongue slide along her collarbone. Possessed with the urge to leave a visible sign on her skin, he leaned in and nibbled lightly. He added the tiniest bit of pressure with his teeth and lips and then with a small flick of his tongue, he pulled away.

His hand fell away from her shoulder, letting her tunic slide back into place and he let his gaze come back up to meet hers with a broad smile, his braid having fallen forward from his ear.

Cauthrien's arm, supporting her weight, trembled as she looked at him curiously, skin flushed and lips slightly parted. "Are you _trying_ to leave marks?" she asked, finally, pulling her hand from his hip to rub at where he'd pressed his lips. "You are, aren't you?"

Blue eyes flashed in accompaniment with his laugh and he leaned in to quiet her with a kiss. It was gentle and as he pulled away again, slowly this time, he whispered, “I _might_ be”.

And then in a tone that implied innocence he added, “I was however very discreet, as you, dear lady, have warned me about.” He thumbed at the edge of her tunic again and pulled it away so he could see the shallow indentations his teeth had left, still red from only moments before.

When his hand fell away he said with a tone of importance and satisfaction, “It is very well hidden.”

She blushed more brightly still at that. "I- yes, it is. Nobody will see it." She sat up again, and for a moment he feared that she would put distance between them to still any further desires. But she only moved to his other side, removing the possibility that they might crush the remaining food. Absently, she touched at her shoulder again.

He smiled, then leaned in to the side she wasn’t paying attention to. Once more he reached up to pull at her tunic, finding her collar and moving it enough to give him access to her shoulder. He kissed at her neck again, but with less preamble than he had on the other side.   
He tried to find the matching spot on her other shoulder, licking, kissing, and then nibbling there, too. Again, it was gentle, knowing he would leave only shallow marks - but marks nonetheless, on her skin where he had been. The thought made him smile again as he pulled back once more.

When she looked at him, he shrugged and narrowed his eyes in playful consideration. “It was uneven. Now, it’s not.” He let his hand fall to her back and pulled her in close.

"Uneven," she said, dryly, voice gone a bit hoarse. She swallowed and licked at her lips, then shifted so that her legs were against his.

He nodded again. “Oh yes, uneven.”

"I'm not entirely sure why you want them there in the _first_ place," she said, fingers settling loosely around the base of her throat.

One of his arms was was propped behind him, but still Teagan tried to give a vague gesture with both. Even he wasn’t sure exactly why he felt like he needed them there, but the giving of them had been very nice. And once given, the knowledge that they were there- well, that was another pleasant feeling in itself, one of possession. There was something about her neck, her hair pulled up and away, that was incredibly appealing to him. After that morning, he wanted his lips against it- he wanted signs of his passing when she had to go elsewhere.

With a shake of his head, he added, “Just felt like it needed doing. And I don’t think I’m very sorry for having done it.” He eyed her curiously for a moment. “Unless you don’t like them?”

He didn’t look up at her as he waited for her answer, but he still caught the barest hint of her shaking her head. His eyes instead focused on the curve of her shoulder, pale and firm. Maker, the slightest hint of her skin could drive him as mad as the thought of courting her properly.

Teagan only looked up as she shifted, moving to throw a leg over his and straddle him. "I don't mind them, certainly," Cauthrien said, looking down at him curiously. "Though I can't do much in response."

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said as he gazed up at her.

After a moment he turned his attention back to her arm, leaning in to kiss the outside of her shoulder. It was simple, gentle and he didn’t nip at her at all. When he lifted away again he was still smiling. No marks; just taste.

Teagan's hands settled on her thighs, her hips, helping her to settle in his lap while she rested her hands on his shoulders. She wasn't straddling his hips like she had the other night, but she was close enough to lean in, eyes narrowed, and kiss him. It started off gentle but turned forceful by degrees. First, a light nip at his lip, followed by a harder one, followed by the intrusion of her tongue. Her hands on his shoulders tightened, then pressed, urging him to lie back.

She exerted force but not necessity as she broke the kiss and dropped her head to kiss at his throat just as he had at hers. He sighed and inhaled shakily, tilting his chin back. She was warm and heavy against him, her lips sliding over his pulse.

When she nipped, it was higher up, at a spot not quite covered by his collar, and he laughed. There was a piece of him that recognized exactly what she was doing, bold and brazed and blunt as always, and he grinned. “See, I knew you would think of something,” he said.

His words were breathy and on the edge of being just sighs, but she responded to them, pulling away and letting her hands slide from his shoulders. She braced them against the ground instead to keep herself from placing too much weight onto him. And there she hesitated, taking a deep breath and staring at her, pupils gone wide with want but mouth tensed in thought.

He counted heartbeats until she moved again.

She bent again to kiss - lightly, this time - at his jaw, all the way to his ear. Once there, she murmured quietly, "We have work to do." But she didn't attempt to sit up again.

He reached a hand up to her face, thumbed over her cheek and over her ear. He tried to nod, though it was difficult against the ground. “Yes, we do have work that needs doing.”

But she didn't move, and he couldn't find the will to press her away. Instead, he nuzzled against her as she kissed his throat again, waited until he could lift his head enough to kiss her back. When he laid his head back on the ground, he sighed.

There were things to do, though. She was right. And if they weren't going to disentangle, they could at least speak.

“We didn’t really finish lunch either... or- talk much.”

**\--**

"No. We didn't."

Cauthrien took another deep breath, trying to focus. Her lips sang from their kisses and her belly throbbed with barely restrained want, and it was a trial to ignore how he looked up at her, how his skin colored pink where she had nipped, how his lips parted as he drew breath.

But with space and air, the need to mark him in turn began to fade. She mastered herself once more and settled down against his side, one leg still over his but with none of the same intensity. Her breathing was still shallow, quick, and her lips ached to seek out his skin again, but she tried to focus.

Oswin. The butcher. His son.

"Oswin's son," she said, frowning faintly, putting one word after the other, "once fell in love with Edlyn, but Oswin said he had warned him off of her. The boy wasn't around to talk to, though."

It had seemed more important, more obvious at the time, but there in the grass with Teagan, she was hard-pressed to remember how it fit in. "Oswin was also very clear that Èdouard wasn't interested in Edlyn."

He slid his hand over to find hers. “Èdouard didn’t have much else to say, really. I did ask him about his term for Edlyn.” He turned his head to look at Cauthrien. “Little flower? He claims it was only a nickname, the first thing he taught her in Orlesian.

“What about Èdouard’s abilities- the goat? Did you ask Oswin about that?” he continued.

Cauthrien hummed low in her throat. "I asked what Èdouard did around the shop, if he ever helped out in the yard. Oswin said he has a weak stomach, and that he mostly takes care of things like making the sausages and preserved meats. I'm... not entirely sure that Èdouard could do what we saw."

She thought of the goat, strangled and then bled out, and frowned.

"Owen, Oswin's boy, was working yesterday - bringing in a goat that apparently escaped him on the way to town. And now he's out of town again, heading over to Hertwig for his father."

“Any idea when the boy will be back? I would hope we could find Edlyn before he returns, especially if they're friends.” He squeezed her hand at the thought and then rolled his head back and looked at the sky.

"He's just out picking up a shipment of salt. At most, he should be back before the week is out."

Teagan leaned into Cauthrien, tilting his head against hers and squeezing her hand again. “If Èdouard is innocent... there’s either someone in town that knows Orlesian that we don’t know about, or there’s something we’re missing...” He let the thought linger for a moment with another sigh.

"It's... always possible," she said, continuing slowly, "that somebody had Èdouard write the letter for them. It doesn't really seem like his writing - close, but not quite, not genuine. And it's also possible that Edlyn wanted to go. The dead goat suggests she's alive and maybe even completely unharmed."

Cauthrien frowned.

Then sat up, abruptly.

"There is somebody else who knows Orlesian- _Edlyn_."

“You’re right,” he said. Also frowning, he pushed himself up to look at Cauthrien. “Did someone make her write it, you think?” Teagan leaned forward and folded his legs up close to him, laying his arms across them thoughtfully. “ _If_ she wrote it, do you think she planned for it to look as though Èdouard had written it?” He shook his head even as he said the words. “Probably not, hm? More likely it sounds like Èdouard because he taught her, yes?”

"That's- possible, though. Somebody who wanted to discredit Èdouard. I'd say that if Edlyn wrote the letter, it would only sound like Èdouard's writing because he taught her, but _little flower_ \- That, at least, was deliberate. And it was written in Orlesian, so it was at least meant to look as if it were written by an Orlesian man.

"But from all accounts, Edlyn didn't _dislike_ Èdouard. I can't imagine why she'd choose to make it look like his doing."

Cauthrien rose, walking over to the willows absently, covering ground to help her think. "But she's the only other person who could have written it, who would have known that endearment. The letter- it's either written by her or by Èdouard, and I'm starting to think it's the girl. The goat- a faked death- and this letter...

"And she had reason to want to disappear."

“The betrothal. If she was as upset as Èdouard says, she would have wanted to leave. But someone helped her, with the goat if nothing else...”

He sighed. “We should still tell Edlyn’s parents that we think she’s alive. But after that, what?” He pushed himself off the ground and walked over to Cauthrien, arms folded across his chest. “I could send out a few men to search for her-”

She remembered back to her daydreams, her thoughts about what her life would have been. "And if they find her? Do we bring her back to a marriage she clearly doesn't want? That goat didn't belong to her family- she killed somebody else's livestock for the chance to escape. Or had it killed.

"And she'd know the potential consequences for it."

Cauthrien turned and paced back in Teagan's direction. "And we have no idea where she might have h-"

Cauthrien froze, then turned to look at Teagan. "She's headed for Gherlen's Pass. Either that or up towards West Hill- she's making for Orlais."

“She has a head start but I can have men sent out to look.” He shook his head. “But do I have her brought home?” There was concern in his expression, his brow arched with the question.

He looked at Cauthrien. “You’re right- about what she faces if she comes back, but I can’t leave her out there alone, can I? We don’t know who might be with her. Or even if there’s something more sinister to it all-” The word trailed off as he looked the ground, scuffed at it with a shoe as he thought.

Her expression tight, she nodded again. "And there's still Blight in that area- tainted wolves and bears and other creatures. She would be in danger even during peacetime, but the Wardens haven't cleared that part of Ferelden yet. Even if she's safe, or with somebody she'd like to be with..."

Cauthrien pursed her lips, resuming her pacing for just a moment before she stopped. She turned to look at him, jaw tense.

"And then," she said, slowly, "there's the matter of Oswin's boy. He had feelings for her at some point recently, and managed to lose a goat. A wether. Maybe we should go back to Edlyn's lands and check the carcass. Because if it's the same goat, we might know who helped her."

Teagan nodded. “We’ll go back to the farm as we intended. We’ll tell her parents what we think and we’ll take another look at the goat." He went back to their food, crouching and starting to wrap everything back up. “When we get back to the estate, I’ll have men sent out to search for her- and, potentially, Oswin’s boy. If they find them, they can be brought back home.” He stood, grabbed the food and said, “We should gather our horses and get to the farm before it gets much later.”

"Even if Owen didn't run away with her, he might still be responsible for helping her escape. Send some men to Hertwig to see if he ever reached it. He'll have a cart, probably ox-drawn, to help bring back the salt... if he's there at all."

She sighed, shaking her head, then whistled a sharp series of trills. Calenhad poked his head from the willows a moment later, then came back to her at a slow plod while she bent and began pulling her discarded clothing back on. "I still think it's best if you tell the parents alone; Oswin did not appreciate me being in his store today, and there are already rumors, apparently, that you listen to me too much."

He shook his head as he packed the food away on his horse. “No, I meant what I said earlier. It’ll be good for them to see you helping. They don’t have to like it and you don’t even have to talk, but I want you there.” His tone was almost forceful and definitely noble, it didn’t have any of the tenderness left from before.

It made her believe him.

He swung up onto his horse and waited for Cauthrien to finish dressing, and her fingers worked quickly at toggles and laces. She pursed her lips, taking a deep breath. It still wasn't a good idea, of that she was sure. But she would let him see that- and hope, quietly, that he was somehow right.

Fastening up her arming jacket and hiding away the last of the marks he had left, she smiled up at him. "Very well. But you do the talking. I'll only put my foot in my mouth - it's a soldier's prerogative when trying to be diplomatic, I think."

With that, she mounted her horse and settled herself. "Lead on."

**\--**

It was near evening by the time they made it back to the estate. The meeting with Edlyn’s parents had been difficult. He had insisted that Cauthrien stay with him, even if she opted not to stand directly next to him as they shared what their investigation thus far had elicited, and her words had been stilted and met with stony silence or wordless sounds of assent or displeasure. He could see the tension in her shoulders as he led them into the stables, dismounting near the entrance and walking his horse the rest of the way, with a soft hand on its muzzle.

Edlyn’s parents, though distrustful of Cauthrien, _had_ listened and indeed been relieved at the thought that Edlyn might still be alive. _Only missing_. They had no idea where she might have gone, giving him and Cauthrien the same tales of Edlyn as the head-in-the-clouds type of girl that might have well gone towards Orlais if she thought she could get there.

Teagan shook his head as he led his horse and spared a glance at Cauthrien. He was thankful for her help, for standing nearby, even if she hadn’t wanted to. Things like this would never be easy. After the war, he had explained to too many people that their husbands or sons had died. He had made himself attend services for those fallen during the fires, or for a dozen other reasons caused by the war- or the Blight. Explaining to a family that their young daughter was missing - that she might now still be in danger - it was harder still than any of that.

If he and Cauthrien had aligned themselves differently during her stay in Rainesfere, he might have been the sort of man that thought she deserved to see what that family was going through. It wasn’t men lost at Ostagar; it was just a family (could have been any family, could have been _her_ family) dealing with the possible loss of their daughter. But the parallels were similar enough, people lost for no reason, people lost possibly because of the actions of far away generals and queens. Edlyn’s family was still suffering from the war, still rebuilding - and now this.

Teagan wasn’t that man and was instead thankful she had been there for support, and more still he wished that it hadn’t been necessary at all.

He gave her a tenuous smile. “Thank you for coming with me. I know you didn’t want to. But I appreciate it.”

She looked up from where she was running a brush over Calenhad's flank. "It didn't go as poorly as I thought it would. They only remembered to glare at me for the first five minutes." She smiled, thinly, then patted Calenhad on the rump and moved to put her things away.

With a sigh she continued, "Though I wish we had had more to offer them."

They hadn't been able to tell Edlyn's family about the goat - a wether indeed - and its connection to the butcher's boy. They didn't know enough yet. They had left it at _gone, but probably not dead, and we have a few leads_.

But the goat had been a wether and they _needed_ to know whether Owen was on the road back to Rainsfere or not.

He came back to himself at the creak of wood as she leaned against the stable wall. "Will the guard set out tonight, or wait until daybreak?"

Teagan shrugged and let out a deep breath. “It’s getting late, but I also know we’ve lost so much time already.” He swallowed and looked at Cauthrien, taking a few steps back from his horse. “If we wait until morning, that’s more time they’ve lost.”

The words tumbled out before he could stop himself and he flushed red. His jaw tensed and he looked back to his horse. _We_.

He swallowed and bowed his head. He wasn’t embarrassed but it was only then dawning how close he already thought them. Courting, marking- working together. Trusting. There was a flutter of uncertainty in his gut and he forced himself to look back at her, as if nothing had happened. As if there wasn’t anything to be made of it. Before, he had been planning to ask her opinion. Now, he hesitated.

“How far do you think a girl or even two people could have gotten on their own? On foot?” he finally asked, searching her face as she spoke for any hint of confusion or displeasure- or, Maker keep him, pleasure.

She didn't seem to notice the slip one way or the other.

She nodded, coming around to his stall, standing at the exit and waiting with her shoulder braced against the wall. "Since yesterday? It depends on... a lot. But at most- if she or they were both used to walking, and were bringing food with them, given how the land lies in this area if they were heading west?"

Cauthrien pursed her lips, fingers tapping on her hip. "Fifteen miles. They're not soldiers used to marching with fifty-pound packs, after all. Or at least, she isn't. I doubt they would move at night. Your men could cover a lot of ground, but without light to look for tracks by, if they've left the main road, it may only waste their energy. My suggestion would be to have them prepare tonight and be ready to move just before dawn. We lose the least time that way.

"Would you like me to accompany them at all...?"

He nodded as Cauthrien spoke, still not quite looking at her. “Morning seems best,” he agreed, then took a deep breath and met her eyes. “But I don’t think you need to go with them.”

He really didn’t want her to go. If he was going to get a quiet night at home after this day, he wanted her there, at least until dawn. It also didn’t seem particularly necessary- his men could handle it, and he wasn’t sure how they would feel riding with Cauthrien, even under his orders.

“Unless you want to?” he asked hesitantly. He stepped passed her out of the stall. There was some confidence in him again and his face no longer felt so warm. Still, he swallowed nervously as he looked to her.

She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. "No," she said, quietly, a little sheepishly, as she rubbed at her shoulder where she knew his marks still rested. Her eyes went from his face to his neck where she could see still the slight darkening of skin she'd left.

"I would go if you thought it best, but- I would be more glad to stay."

With him.

He was glad to hear it.

She glanced away, taking a deep breath and straightening, pushing away from the stall.

“Then let’s get back up to the house. I’ll send out the orders and we can have... dinner?” There was a grin for her then. _Wine, perhaps?_ was on his lips but he kept the words back.

With small chuckle to himself he looked at her and then headed towards the path. And then her own small voice played in his head- her damned ‘discretion’, which made him laugh just a little louder.

“Do you want to walk with me to the house?” he asked, head tilted and a brow arched as he grinned.

She rubbed at her shoulder again, a faint smile on her lips.

"All of Rainsfere has seen me walking places with you by now, I think," she said, following - but not as far behind as she usually did, walking almost abreast with him. "A stroll up to dinner won't add too much fuel to the fire."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search party is sent out. Cauthrien and Teagan turn to Edlyn's writing practice to try and set straight what's happened once and for all. Along the way, Teagan realizes that only three weeks remain before Cauthrien leaves - possibly forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: None

Cauthrien woke up in Teagan's bed sometime around dawn, clad only in her smalls. He kept heavy curtains drawn over his windows, leaving the room without light, but her body still knew when the sun rose. She stirred, rolling onto her back and opening her eyes, blinking up blearily at the ceiling.

Dinner had turned to an invitation back to his office, which had led to wine, half-hearted attempts at spelling lessons, and her working the tension from his shoulders until he had turned and kissed her. From there, it had been a sneaking trip through the halls to his room, dodging servants and trying to keep Teagan's hands off of her until they were once again behind closed doors.

She'd risen sometime after midnight with the idea of leaving while the servants slept. _Discretion_ , she had reminded Teagan earlier when he had been focused on leaving marks on every inch of skin he could, his lips warm against her throat and the insides of her thighs. _Discretion_ , she had tried to remind him once more when he woke and sleepily took her hand, tugging her back to bed. She'd only managed to get her smalls on before he'd noticed her warmth missing, and she hadn't fought when he had insisted she sleep beside him again.

But now it was morning and not only was there work to be done - work that they had struggled at first to put aside - there was the matter of getting out of his room unseen, again.

If the last night had taught her one thing, it was that leaving Teagan without a word, made it harder to go. So she leaned over and pressed her lips to his shoulder.

"Teagan."

He stirred.  Blinking slowly, sleepily, he looked for her.

"Mmm … Yes?" He reached for her again, like he had in the night, unwilling to let her go. A hand on her arm, he tilted his head to return her kiss. "Not thinking of leaving again are you?" There was a tiny, sleepy smile at that.

Carefully, she tried to extricate herself from him and the bed. "I have to go wash up and change my clothes at some point," she said, shaking her head. "It's dawn. We have work to do and more servants to dodge now."

Dawn meant seeing the guards off on their search. It meant leaving his bed, his room. She didn't want to leave, but he seemed to want it even less so, groaning as he started to push himself up from the bed.

"Next time, you need to let me leave while the house is still asleep," she added.

With a quirked brow he said, "Or maybe next time we’ll just go to your room."

"And then it will be your job to remember to sneak out before the servants come around," she said, shaking her head and standing, beginning to pull her clothing back on. She was about to pull her hair back when she remembered his insistent nips at the spot just below her ear. There was bound to be a mark there (damn him), and so she kept her hair down.

He slid his feet off the bed, toes curling in and legs stretching. He rubbed at his face, ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to rouse himself. "Go then, get ready... get dressed," he said over his shoulder. "I’ll do the same and meet you downstairs."

She glanced to him as he spoke, then nodded. "I'll be there as quickly as I'm able."

For a moment, she found herself simply watching him, his back turned to her as he rolled his shoulders, stretched his arms above his head and pushed himself off the bed. Cauthrien shook her head and moved to the door, opening it by small inches and looking for anyone in the hall. An elf boy passed the door and was walking away and she waited until he turned a corner before she slipped out.

Away from Teagan and the distractions he provided (apologies in touches and kisses for their argument the other night, murmurs of _uneven_ , warmth against her back, fingers laced with hers), she was able to put herself back together quickly enough. A quick splash of water from the basin in her room and a change of clothing later and she went to meet him in the main yard. She kept her hair down, which made her feel out of place, but a look in the glass in her room had proven that, yes, Teagan had left a trail of reddened kisses down her throat.

The yard was familiar, as were the sounds of men and women checking armor and packs, soothing anxious horses, murmuring amongst themselves. This was where she belonged, in a sense: at the head of a contingent, or with them. But she stood instead at a remove, hair down and on the outside. This was Teagan's world, she reminded herself; she could support, but she could not lead.

She waited, arms folded behind her in parade rest, until she saw Teagan approaching. He had an easy smile for her, though it was short lived and had faded by the time he looked away from her and to the captain of his guard. He gave a small nod towards the rest of the assembled men and women.

And then he hesitated and looked back to Cauthrien, taking a small side-step to move closer to her. "Thoughts on directions for the search party?"

She frowned. "Are you asking me," she said, voice pitched low, "to give those directions to them, or to pass them on to you?"

It would be easiest to direct the party herself, but that would mean taking a position of leadership that would either be seen as challenging Teagan's or as proof of something going on between them. She hesitated, then added,

"... I can do either."

He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, but met her questioning gaze. "I have little experience in directing search parties," he said. "If you have directions that would be useful, I’m willing to let you give them." He took a breath, trying to straighten himself more, and she thought he looked commanding even as he handed over some measure of leadership to her.

She should have said no, simply whispered in his ear. What had Oswin said? That he listened to her too much already?

But no. The orders, if they came from her mouth, would be heard from her lips.

"I'll take care of it," she said, drawing away slightly, hands clasping behind her back once more.

He nodded and stepped away from her again. There was a whisper of _thank you_ from him as he moved back towards the guard captain.

"Ser Cauthrien has some directions on conducting the search," he said, head held high and shoulders back.

Cauthrien stepped forward, taking a deep breath. These were not her people. These were not even soldiers who trusted her because of her reputation or rank. But she kept her gaze level, her chin lifted, and when she spoke, her voice was calm and firm.

"The girl you're looking for is, in all likelihood, heading towards Orlais. That means our best chances of finding her are along the roads to Gherlen's Pass and West Hill. She may be alone or she may be with another person, and will likely be on foot or moving by ox cart, not horse. By tonight, she'll have only moved at most fifty miles from here. Keep your search tight and limited. Ask questions at any town you pass through.

"Edlyn knows Orlesian and may speak it to hide her identity, or she may be open with who she is.

"She's a farmer's girl, so chances are good she won't stray into the woods too far. Her family told us that she doesn't help with the trapping or hunting. She may be hurting for food; carry extra on you in case you find her.

"Your priority is to keep her safe. If that means whoever she travels with gets away, fine. If that means you need to escort her to where she will be taken care of, whether that's home or the border, then so be it- but provide counsel when you can. Try to bring her home.

"And remember: she's just a girl."

Teagan stepped to her side and looked out over the guards. "If you find the girl, or have to deviate from our plan based on what you find, send a runner as soon as you can to keep us informed." He nodded to the guard captain to dismiss them.

"Maker be with you."

"And with you," she responded in a low murmur along with the assembled guard. It sent a shiver through her, to move swords like this again after so long. There was muttering in the ranks, shifting, the creak of riding leathers- but there were no protests. There were no snorts of open disgust or mistrust.

It was as much as she could hope for.

As the guard began to move, Cauthrien turned to Teagan again.

"About Edlyn's letter- Would Èdouard have kept her writing practice? Would her family? If I had an example of how she wrote, I could compare that to the note we found, just like I did Èdouard's writing." She glanced away a moment, then added, "I want to be sure this time."

"I don’t know," he said without turning. His gaze was still fixed on the guard. Though they seemed to take her direction well, she could see her own unease echoed in the set of his shoulders. But it seemed quickly apparent that the guard was focused on the task at hand.

"Would you like me to go back to Èdouard’s house to ask him?" Teagan asked.

"I would like somebody to ask him - if you think he'll only listen to you, then I suppose it should be you." She would have preferred him to stay- to go over with her again what they knew, to talk to her through the anxiety of waiting for word from the search party. But she could do it alone if she needed to, and it would only be a few hours apart. When had a few hours begun to matter?

"There are still guards at his home, I don’t necessarily need to go," he said finally turning towards her at what might have been hesitance in her voice. "There’s no real need for me to go, I think he’ll turn over anything he has."

He eyed her carefully, "Unless there’s something else you want me, specifically, to ask him?" With a small shrug he added, his voice lower than before, "Otherwise, you and I can just go back inside and I’ll send a runner out to Èdouard’s house."

She considered for a moment, then shook her head. "No, nothing else. At least, I can't think of anything. Keeping this all straight..." She shook her head again, and pinched at the bridge of her nose.

"... Though one day, I should go and make my apologies to him," she muttered.

"Alright then, I’ll send someone to Èdouard’s." He turned as if to leave and a thought stopped him. He turned to face her completely and smiled, something soft and intimate and had anyone been able to see his face - definitely not discreet.

"I’ll meet you inside for... breakfast then?" he asked as though he couldn’t remember when they’d last eaten, or what meal it had been.

It was becoming an unbreakable ritual, these meals together, and she thought back to her first night there, when he'd found her in his kitchen. And the day before, in the field.

She nodded. "Breakfast," she repeated. "But then I want some time to go over what we have, especially if your runner is back by then." Quiet time, she meant. Alone time, where work wouldn't be interrupted by his lips against her throat, the scratch of his beard along her skin.

He nodded almost solemnly, though he quirked a brow at her mention of work. "Soon then."

Cauthrien was the first to leave the yard, long strides carrying her back into the keep and up to her room. She sifted through the papers on her desk, pausing at her letter to Anora, still unsent. After a moment's hesitation, she left it there, along with the pieces of evidence they had. She didn't want to lose this last moment of relaxation with Teagan before the day's work and the waiting truly began.

As she made her way to the dining hall, she nodded to servants she could now recognize and who could recognize her. Most were still distrusting and distant, but a few gave her knowing looks that made Cauthrien frown.

Did they know?

She had thought they hadn't been seen, but it was possible they'd been heard, or that the servants could read their brief shows of public affection. Turning the thought over in his mind, she settled down at her customary spot and waited.

**\--**

He had a smile in place as he made his way through the hall, catching a glimpse of Cauthrien as soon as he rounded the corner. It _almost_ didn’t feel strange how easily that smile came to his lips when he saw her, or thought of her. And it felt less so, seeing her in that spot at his table - a table that had been so often empty since the Blight. Any thought of the work that lay before him vanished, despite Raud's insistence that it needed to be dealt with. His seneschal's discomfort at the source of Teagan's distraction had been more than clear, even as he had gone off to call for a runner to town, but Cauthrien sitting at his table sent that thought away, too.

Breakfast was already being brought to the table when he cleared his throat. "What a surprise to find you here," he said with a broadening grin - since it was anything but surprising to him now - as he took his seat across the table from her. He grabbed at a chunk of bread and bit into it.

Between bites he said, "Now, we wait."

"Yes, we wait," she said as she dipped her hunk of bread into spiced honey. She propped her weight on one elbow and, after a quick glance around, leaned in. "... I think the servants know," she said, with a tight little smile. She finished off the piece of bread, licking her fingers clean, and then reached for water.

Teagan gave a small shrug but did his best to put a damper on his smile. With an insincere nod he said, "That is... too bad." The lie was light and easy, and he hoped it covered to a polite extent, his relief and happiness at the news. He wanted people to know - he would be discreet because it was proper and she wanted it from him, but hiding it entirely was not something he sought.

He scooted back in his seat, pushing his elbows off the table before he was too tempted to lean the rest of the way across the table to plant a kiss on her lips. Another bite of bread and he looked away from her. Reminders of discretion were never far from her lips and he expected to hear another one now.

"Is there something you want to do about it?" he asked. A frown tugged at his lips as the memory of the letter she had written to Anora surfaced. She had written to receive a new assignment - and even if she hadn’t sent it yet, at some point it had been on her mind.

But, things had been good between them, the day before with their picnic and then the evening together. Even with the duties they had tended to that morning in seeing the guard off on their search, it had been a pleasant enough morning. She had stayed through the night. He was not eager to disrupt that, by bringing up the letter she had yet to send.

"I'm not sure what can be done." She reached for a piece of dried fruit as she thought. "If they know already, discretion remains polite but... will not make the rumors go away. If there are rumors. I may be wrong."

Cauthrien shrugged, sitting back herself and nibbling. The look she gave him was plaintive, questioning - but not panicking.

He gave her a small, knowing nod. "Discretion, of course."

Questions about the letter were there, on the tip of his tongue, and he wanted to ask her if she meant what she had written. He pursed his lips and tapped the fingers of his other hand on the table as he thought for a different way to ask them. He finished last of the bread in his hand.

"Would you go home if there were more than rumors? Would you tell Anora after all?" He swallowed and gave her a careful, measured look where no trace of his previous playfulness remained.

"I- no. I'm here for a month. I would tell the Queen, yes, but unless my orders change..." She frowned.

"... No, I think I would stay here. I would like to, certainly- even if Edlyn were to be brought back tomorrow." Cauthrien swallowed herself, shifting in her seat. "Unless there were an outcry. That I could not abide. But I don't think you could, either?"

A quiet relieved sigh escaped his lips and he slid his hands from the table to his lap. He was glad she wanted to stay. Maybe what he had seen wouldn’t be sent to Anora after all, and the corner of his lips quirked in a hint of a smile. He could not abide it if his people were truly upset, if they all spoke against her. But, he did not think that would happen.

"Well, just have to hope that’s not the case. An outcry, I mean. Rumors we can handle."

Even still, he had meant what he had told her nearly a week before- it wasn’t about his people. He could admit now that he felt _something_ for her. He wondered where he would find a limit. If his people did oppose her, would he continue to see her? Would he fight to keep her?

"Still..." He leaned into the table again, sliding his hands up on to it. "If it came to that..." _I would be willing to try_. The words didn’t come.

"... If it came to that?" She glanced between his hands and his face, lips firming into that line that spoke of tension, nervousness, uncertainty.

Did she really want him to answer that? Here, when she had been worried moments before that the servants knew something was happening between them? He gave her a soft shrug and looked down at what else remained of breakfast, suddenly less hungry. No, he wouldn't tell her. It had only been a week and worrying her further would be unwise.

His smile was still there, refusing to leave, even in the depth of the moment and when he looked back to her it broadened. If it came to that, she would know what he would do. And he suspected, she had a good enough idea already. After all, he had faced her down, sword and all, after she had only been in Rainesfere two nights.

He licked at his lips and after a long pause, hands reaching for more food, he said, "We’ll hope it does not. And keep to your diligent reminders of discretion."

"Of course," she said, finishing off her water as if it were a stiff drink. She smiled over the rim of her cup, though. She finished off her food as quickly as she was able to. "We only have three weeks left, now. ... I believe we can manage."

"Indeed," he murmured. He pulled fruit and cheese onto his plate and then stared at it. "...three weeks."

It didn’t seem like so little time. It hadn’t seemed like a week had passed at all, not when every day and many of the nights had been spent with her at his side, or in his bed. They had begun to blend together, the days - the two of them. But it did seem like too little, like any stated amount might be too few days.

If she tried to run, if she gave up, he would go after her. That much, he was sure of. But what happened when the month was up, when she left for duty that could not be denied instead of her own fears and uncertainties? What could he do then?

He swallowed a bite of cheese and looked back to her, opening his mouth as if to say something. Maybe it would be something like, _we should make the most of it_. But wasn’t that what they were doing already? He closed his mouth again and reached for his mug, washing the words and the food away.

Cauthrien looked about her, lips pursing in his silence. "... While I work on going over what we have, will you be attending to the bannorn?"

He relaxed a little, nodding. "I have been... distracted."

Not that he was complaining. The distraction had been- was still- very welcome. But at the moment he was eager for the change in topic and would be ready for some work if it meant being able to avoid the topic of the end of their month together, though it would only be a temporary reprieve. He took another drink and eyes following his hand as he placed his mug back on the table.

"Someone should be back soon enough with word from Èdouard. If it comes, I’ll have it sent to you." he smiled. "Will you be in your room while you work?"

"Yes, I'll be there."

His eyes flicked away for a moment, catching sight of Raud crossing the hall towards Teagan’s office. When he looked back at her, he started to push away from the table. She rose as well.

"In fact, I think Raud is ready for me now."

They both had work to do, he reminded himself, pushing away thoughts of her tumbling into bed with him the night before. There had been, of all things, laughter then, from both of them. Cauthrien had been _playful_ and so had he and there hadn't been a moment's darkness until she'd tried to leave a few hours later.

And even that had been short lived.

"I'll be taking my mid-day meal there, as well," Cauthrien was saying while his thoughts tried to go in twenty directions at once. He lifted an eyebrow at that last, as if to say, we’ll see about that. Instead he flashed her a smile, one that helped , as he turned towards the hall to his office.

"Then I’ll have anything they find at Èdouard’s sent to you there."

Teagan ran a hand over his chest, smoothing down the fabric and then tugging at the ends of his sleeves as he started down the hall. Over his shoulder he called, "Have a good morning Ser Cauthrien," though there was no severity to her title as he did so. In fact, he teased her, even as he was already down the hall and anything else he might have said was far from discreet.

**\--**

She shook her head as he left, then rose and made for her own room.

There, she sat at her desk going over the same notes again and again. She knew them by heart. She almost didn't need them in front of her. But she read them again, read the letter found by the goat's blood, and eventually, she settled onto her bed to think.

What did they have?

A missing girl. A dead wether. A potentially missing butcher's boy who had lost a wether the day the girl went missing. An Orlesian letter, written with odd poetics as if the writer had never read or heard Orlesian in truth. An endearment used by the man who had taught Edlyn Orlesian.

A betrothal Edlyn hadn't wanted.

Wary of jumping to conclusions again, she tried to rearrange the pieces, find another way they could fit, but all she could come to was that Edlyn had written the letter, had killed or had somebody else kill the goat to fake her own death. The boy could have been with her, left with her, but maybe not. Perhaps he was in hiding. Perhaps she'd played upon his feelings for her to gain his aid, but had left without him.

Cauthrien didn't know.

She sagged back against her pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

The writing samples, if Èdouard had kept any, would confirm that the letter had been written by the girl. Apologies would need to be made to the man. And as for the search team... all that was left was to wait.

She didn't know if she could stand that.

Lunch came and went. After she ate, she tried to focus on her letter to Anora. She read it over several times, and fixed the spelling of one or two words, but she found nothing else to add. She toyed, briefly, with the idea of adding a postscript about herself and Teagan, but each time she moved to write it down, her hand shook and she abandoned the idea.

Finally, an hour or so after her meal, there came the odd sound of a shoe against the bottom of her door. She looked up and heard, on the other side, Teagan clear his throat and say, "We have parchments from Èdouard’s house."

She pulled herself up from her desk and crossed the short distance. Her letter sat, unchanged, on her desk, and she was glad for the respite. She opened the door with a relieved but tired smile that was answered by one of his, then looked at the pile of rolled parchments in his hands.

"Ah. He kept a lot of her practice, then."

She tried not to feel suspicious at that, tried not to fall to suspecting Èdouard again. He was perhaps a packrat, or Edlyn liked to see her progress. There were many explanations.

"Well, it looks that way." He half-shrugged and gestured with the pile in his hands as if to make sure it was okay for him to enter.

"I thought we could go over them together?"

"Of course. Though you only gave me one chair," she pointed out, shooting for levity in imitation of him. She took some of the pile with careful fingers, then stepped back so he could enter.

"You also gave me a workable floor, though," Cauthrien added, and settled herself thereon facing her chair. He could take it; she, of course, had sat on much worse, and in this case, she preferred to have everything spread out in front of her. As she situated herself, he chuckled, watching her, and then bending down, he set the other parchments before her.

"The letter we found is on my desk," she said with the barest glance up, beginning to unroll the practice parchments, putting aside those that were just words and not sentences. "Top right corner, I think- should be on top."

He looked at the desk, grabbing for the letter Cauthrien indicated. He glanced, then, to her chair. After running a hand through his hair, he lowered himself on the ground instead, across from her.

"I’ll be fine here," he said with his customary easy smile. "Where I can better see... everything."

He handed her the original letter and then started to spread the new ones out on the floor between them.

"I see you’re working on your report," he added, not looking up.

"Oh," Cauthrien said, glancing to her desk. "Yes, I am. I can't think of what to put in it, though, and I wrote it- Well, I wrote it after our discussion in the chantry. I should probably just start it over to add what's happened since." She continued to remove the samples that wouldn't be of any help; some were copies of well-known Orlesian poems and lines from novels, nothing originally of Edlyn's. She could recognize them easily; she'd read the same, once, or similar.

She looked up to him after a moment, sitting on the floor like- well, she couldn't say not like a noble; banns were nothing like Orlesian aristocrats who would never consider sitting on the ground with a soldier unless there were sumptuous pillows and treats involved (and even then, they'd be playing at being magisters). But he was sitting on the floor like they were close friends.

And they were.

It made her smile.

He nodded, still not looking up at her. "I saw that."

The smile? She frowned, then pressed her lips into a firm line. The letter. _Saw_ -

With a small sigh, Teagan looked between a piece of parchment he was holding and the original letter. "What do you think? It looks a little similar." He squinted, searching the pages and then looking again to Cauthrien.

His question distracted her from her own and she sat forward to look more closely. It was a few sentences, constructed instead of copied. The handwriting was close, very close. "It does look similar. Did he date these at all? It would be best if we had something recent to compare it to."

She sorted through what else they had, removed a few more pieces of parchment, leaving them with only what appeared to be full, original sentences.

"... I don't want to jump to conclusions again. It does none of us any favors," she added, more quietly. It only led to arguing, fighting- which she was confident she didn't want anymore.

Teagan tilted his head, turned slightly to see the pages Cauthrien was looking at. "I don’t see dates. It’s not really formal practice is it? Bits and pieces of things..."

Èdouard was no real instructor, just an Orlesian who seemed kind to neighbors and young girls with big dreams and the willingness to learn his language. It was not Loghain teaching her through constant, structured lessons, progress tracked and commented on to spur her forward.

"Does the letter use anything from her practice? Anything that might imply she or Èdouard wrote it?" Teagan asked.

She scanned the letters, holding up a hand for quiet. She needed to focus. She was looking for tiny puzzle pieces, and it had never been her strongest skill.

 _Little flower_ was already accounted for. But what of the rest? She kept an eye out for _loves you more than the stars_ , for little turns of phrase about beauty.

When she spoke, it was in Orlesian, as was how she thought; translating didn't help, because she was looking for similarities in syntax, in style. " _There are some similarities. ... Let me get the pieces where she was copying poetry out again. She may have taken things from there- or at least, how she remembered the poems going_."

**\--**

His brow quirked up at her hand, at the gesture for silence. He leaned back to give her space and let her work. If she wouldn't speak aloud, then he wouldn't try to work in tandem. He waited. It meant his mind wandered, eyes following the length of her arm to her neck even though it was still covered by the fall of her hair. The marks he had left there were barely visible, but he knew where each of them was, remembered looking at them over and over again the night before as he left others.

He was staring openly at her. She was lost in thought, and he knew she didn’t like the language on her lips or in her brain - or at least the memories associated with it. Still she continued on, her mouth set, her eyes alight. When he couldn’t talk, he wanted to: about the letters, about _her_ letter, about them, about what he had wanted to say at breakfast and found then he couldn’t. It all danced on the tip of his tongue as he watched her brow crease in concentration, the occasional lip movement as she read.

She leaned back to look through what she had set aside, and then handed him a few rolls. " _Here, look at these_ ," she said, taking a few for herself and sitting back straighter, looking over one. " _Loves you more than the stars_ ," she mused aloud, turning over the phrase.

He fumbled for the parchment as she handed them over, not expecting to be brought into the work she was so focused on. He started to go through them, one at a time, remembering the line she had recited from the original. Each page he tried to read fully; it was the best distraction from the woman across from him.

One in particular, a poem Edlyn had copied, held his attention. He read it over, caught in the sentiment of it, the emotion. The speaker was forced to remember a past lover. It was a private shame for the author, having been separated from this other person, when no one ever knew of the affair.

Teagan felt it. He understood it. He didn’t know how many times he had read the whole poem before something else stood out to him, a trembling reminder of their purpose. He swallowed, mouth dry with concentration. After a moment, he fought to shift his gaze from the parchment and the unsteady curves of Edlyn’s writing to Cauthrien.

Softly and remembering her earlier use of Orlesian, he said, " _Where’s the letter? The original_?"

His hands searched for it and through he wanted to keep his eyes on Cauthrien he read the note as he drew it closer to himself. His jaw tensed as he read it, and then the poem, again.

"I- uh-" he stammered and glanced at Cauthrien. With some nervous effort, he put the original letter down and started over. " _I think I’ve found something, listen to this_ -"

His words were still soft, careful, both for the language and the solemnity of the words. He almost felt as though he could recite the whole poem without glancing down. He did, though using the feel of the parchment as a foundation. He found the section in the poem that had finally triggered some memory in him- something that finally broke through the emotion of the poem and reminded him of Edlyn’s letter.

 _"They speak your name,  
A curse in my ear;  
A shudder runs through me-  
Why must you turn me away?  
They know not I know you,  
And love you like stars;  
In silence I grieve,  
Too deeply to say."_

Finished, he took a staggered breath and raised his gaze again to Cauthrien. He wanted to play it off, but there was no levity in the moment, no joy in that poem or in him at reading it.

"... Teagan?" she asked, reaching out to take the poem.

He let her, feeling the drag of the parchment through his fingers and dropping his gaze to it as she pulled it to her. With another deep breath, he felt more steady, more controlled. He knew, having heard it with his own voice, that this was the basis. This was what Edlyn had used. She had written the letter that had been found in her absence.

But knowing that, he still couldn’t distract him from his own strong connection with it.

Cauthrien said his name again and he looked up. He met her questioning expression with narrowed eyes, almost composed. It was not uncommon this- this- whatever he had with Cauthrien. Strong connections, confusing ones... dalliances, indiscretions, affairs. Among noble circles, he had heard more stories about them than he could count.

And though he couldn’t quite put it into words, he wanted to believe that what he and Cauthrien had could be different.

Still, she had only that morning reminded him that they had three weeks left. Three weeks. After which she would return to her regular duties for Anora, back to her home, leaving him and his bannorn free of her. She had told him he was a fool that first night. Maybe he should have listened, if not for the reasons she had wanted him to.

His jaw was still tense as he looked at her, but he forced a quiet, noble, respectable, "Yes?" from his lips. Then, with an almost stoic expression, almost a challenge he asked, "That’s it, isn’t it?" He inclined his head to indicate the poem in her hand.

Her lips parted as if she would speak, but she looked instead down to the parchment. She read over it then nodded, slowly. "It looks right," she said, but when she looked up to him again, she was still questioning.

Carefully she set the poem aside, moved some of the remaining pieces from between them. That done, she looked to him once more.

"... Teagan, is something- wrong?"

Was there?

He wasn’t sure. He had told her it would be okay, that he was prepared for this. But he didn't need to be able to see the paper to see the words again. The problem was not that the poem meant something to him- but that she did. And though it was not their situation, not exactly, it could be.

Months, years, decades possibly, of working on opposite sides of Ferelden. Knowing the other was there, was alive and remembering what they had - even if only for a month. Teagan didn’t think he wanted that. To be in Rainesfere, forgotten, while she went home to Denerim and resumed her life of service to Anora.

"I’m... not sure," he said with a small shrug.

He shifted awkwardly and then stood, slowly, torn between wanting to leave and not.

She stood as well. There was still parchment all over the ground and her boot toe nudged it with a crackle. Her usual fastidiousness didn't seem to stop her from rising, from taking a step towards him. "This morning you seemed off, too," she pointed out. "... Is this about the Warden?"

He canted his head and eyed her curiously.

The Warden?

It took him a moment to think about it and as he did, his expression softened. He supposed it could have fit. Cauthrien knew, after all, what few other people had, that he had feelings for the Warden Commander.

But he shook his head. "No."

And then he added a brief, "I’m sorry," that strange noble facade of his sliding into place, without a smile. "I should go."

He turned sharply, letting out a small huff. He was disappointed in himself, getting as caught up as he had in a poem, in an idea, in something that hadn’t even happened, or might not happen yet. Shaking his head again, he made for the door.

 _No, not about the Warden_. He had never felt like this when thinking of the Lady Cousland.

"No, don't go," Cauthrien called from behind him. He hadn’t made it more than a few steps into the hall and his shoulders fell forward. He supposed he should have expected her to follow. Hadn’t he showed her that he would do just the same? And she had done it before- already it had become a habit between them. One ran, the other followed and brought them home.

"I just-" he tried, but his voice caught. There were too many things going around in his head. He slowed, pivoting on his heel. His eyes were still downcast, still avoiding her, his fingers pressed against his thighs, threatening at fists.

What he didn’t want to do was have to explain himself. He wasn’t even sure he could explain it all- why he had such a reaction to the poem. If they only had a month- if they only had three weeks, shouldn’t it be lighter and more frivolous, not this melancholy that was settling into him? It would have been better to go - even if just for a little while - away from her, to calm down, to find that light-heartedness again.

But she already knew him too well. She came closer, closer than an agent of the Queen should have, and reached out to touch one of his tensed hands.

"Don't run."

His fingers flexed, searching for hers instinctively. He slid his gaze to their hands and let out a small derisive laugh. Even his own fingers would betray him, would go to her whether he thought he was in the mood or not. He was trying to run, and would have been, if his fingers hadn’t desperately tried to lace together with hers. She let their fingers entwine and stepped closer still, and he exhaled sharply.

"I just thought I needed some space," he said, voice dangerously low. His jaw tightened again, teeth clenching. At the moment, he wanted not to be so raw, confused, so readable.

Because it wasn’t completely true. He needed more than that. He needed _her_ , and he knew that she would see it.

"Don't go," she murmured. Her brow was furrowed, her grey eyes searching his for something. She didn't understand, not entirely, but he could see her trying. Her voice was strained as she continued. "Not while you're like this. I-" And then she gave up and leaned in to kiss him.

He froze, shifted uncomfortably- and then leaned into her, into the kiss. He brought his other hand up, though it was still tense like the rest of him, and laid it on her shoulder. He slid his palm up to her jaw, feeling her pulse fast beneath his hand.

There were footsteps down the hall, and she was bold, he thought, bolder still when the footsteps grew louder and she didn’t pull away. Discretion was forgotten. But he didn’t feel that strong, and after a moment he broke the kiss.

 _Three weeks_ kept echoing in his head, that and _love you like stars_. It wasn’t really the poem, or Edlyn’s letter that was threatening to break him. He knew, as he held her, his fingers still twined with hers, that it was her - Cauthrien, and the idea she would have to leave. _Three weeks_.

He licked his bottom lip nervously, leaned back a little to meet her gaze and said, "Three weeks," with a sigh.

"I know," she said, softly. "But that's three times again what we've had so far."

She glanced behind her and he tilted his head to look around her. It had been Raud approaching. Raud, now stopped, looked at the both of them with disapproval, the judgment evident and creased into the lines of his face and the whitening to his lips. Cauthrien took a breath and turned back to face Teagan. "... I...

"... I'm not going to want to leave. When the time comes," she admitted, quietly.

He wanted privacy for this, and was sure that Cauthrien did as well. But Raud did not turn to leave, and Teagan looked to Cauthrien, unwilling to leave her admission unanswered.

With a gentle squeeze of her hand, and a light touch against her face, he pulled away from her once more. This time he felt far less tense or hesitant and his hands rested naturally against his thighs.

"And I won’t want you to go. … _Don’t_ want you to go."

It was as close a confession of what he had wanted to say earlier that morning, that what he wanted wasn’t something fleeting. He couldn’t say it now, not with Raud so close and not while he worked through his conflicting emotions, trying desperately to make them behave. It was only what he could say now and he hoped she could read the rest in the downward turn of his lips and the sadness in his eyes.

He took a step back, still looking over her shoulder where his seneschal still stood. Cauthrien took a steeling breath and stepped away as well, turning to face the man. She said nothing, but fell into parade rest.

"Raud?" Teagan called.

His sensechal glanced at the floor for a moment before bringing his gaze level with Teagan’s, and ignoring Cauthrien completely. He cleared his throat.

"... I was going over the finances for this month while you were... occupied. I had a question that I could use your help with, my lord." Raud lowered his head just slightly in some sort of deference.

Teagan wasn’t sure what to make of the interruption, whether it had been intentional or not. Now, the idea that Raud knew (if he hadn’t already, or suspected at least) was enough to help Teagan put his emotions away. He nodded at Raud and then turned to Cauthrien, looking at her with a faint, tender smile, wondering if later if there would be further discretionary reminders.

"We can talk later, if you want," he said softly. He reached for her hand and squeezed at her fingers as he took a few step towards Raud. "This shouldn’t take too long."

Then, to Raud, trying to sound as though he was focused on the business at hand, he said, "Well, let’s take a look, then." It wasn’t genuine interest and once the words had left his lips, he knew it was evident to everyone, but he was proud at least at the effort as he took his leave of the woman he wanted more than the stars and rejoined work further down the hall.

**\--**

Cauthrien retreated to her room. She closed her door and looked down at the writing samples. Carefully, she collected everything but the poem and set the rolled up parchments aside, then set the note and the poem on her desk. She spread the poem out with splayed fingers, rereading it.

She tapped her finger on the wood of her desk, considering. Teagan had been right; the letter was a near-perfect match for the note. Edlyn had written both - even the handwriting matched. It was close to Èdouard's but not quite. The man had likely taught her penmanship, too.

Now, there was only the wait.

The work was done. She was frustrated by how little more she could push, but that frustration did not linger long. Instead, a small, sad smile touched at her lips.

 _They know not I know you._

Well. They knew now.

Raud knew, certainly, and there was no use doubting that the servants gossiped. Discretion was likely still the best route, but there was something freeing in the idea that she could take his hand at dinner, or that she didn't have to leave in the middle of the night when they bedded down together once more.

She leaned back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling of her room. It had been a spur of the moment decision, to demonstrate her affection in what amounted to public, but the monumental nature of it weighed down on her. She breathed deeply. If there was outcry, she would leave. And if there wasn't...

But there would be. She just hoped it would take until the end of the month to build that high.

She closed her eyes a moment, then sat forward. There was one task left that she could do. Pulling fresh parchment forward, she began to write a new letter to Anora. At first she only copied what she had already written of Edlyn's disappearance, amending a few notes.

 _Have not fownd out much more about Teagan's motivs. He remanes a deesent horse man and servisable with a sword, though it would apeer he has becom rustee in the last few months._

 _Since ariving a local girl has gon mising and posiblee framed a man for murdur. I am asisting on the kase, as the evidens is in Orlesian._

And then, after taking a moment to roll her shoulders and steady herself, she added,

 _In the intrest of ful disclozur, I am sleeping with Teagan._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having done everything to find Edlyn that they can think of, Cauthrien and Teagan settle in to wait and turn to re-establishing their relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: NC-17/AO  
> Chapter Warnings: None

Raud said nothing about the kiss he had witnessed, but the man’s disapproval was evident as they walked back to Teagan’s office. It only grew moreso as they worked. Raud’s responses and questions were short, clipped words and downcast glances.

Teagan ignored the older man’s disapproval as best he could, focusing on the work and answering Raud’s questions. There were finances to deal with, food orders to be signed off on. A few petitions to be looked over in the privacy of his office instead of the clamor of his hall. Some of the tasks, he thought with something like a knot in his chest that he hadn't felt for some time, were ones the lady of the house usually handled. They were all his, though, familiar and rote.

As the time for dinner approached, Teagan asked after a bottle of wine and had it brought to his office. He was eager to see Cauthrien again, now that the uncertainty in his head had quieted somewhat, but he still felt unprepared. A glass of wine- two- helped to calm his nerves. He was almost grateful to Raud for the stares, for his frown, feeling bolstered by them somehow, though he was sure his seneschal would disapprove of that also, had he known. Still, Teagan used it as fuel for his confidence, his supposed rebellion against what was right or proper.

He took the bottle of wine with him to dinner and was there earlier than he needed to be, certain now that he was bold enough to say what he needed to. To face her again. He was waiting when she entered, all confidence and blossoming relaxation.

She smiled as she sat down across from him. "Sorry. I was in the yard- did you send the servant after me?"

"No," he said, with a chuckle to ease his lingering worries. "I did not, though I did sit for dinner early tonight." He nodded at his glass of wine. "And have already had a drink while I waited."

He looked up at her, eyes bleary with alcohol and fatigue, and sighed. "But I imagine that if Raud knows, they must all know by now." He even sounded tired, though the smile was still in place. His lips parted and he was on the verge of speaking again, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, he lifted his glass and took a drink.

She considered him a moment, then reached for an empty cup and poured herself a measure of wine as well. "Well, they were kind enough to call me for dinner. And your guard, I think, like me a little more."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "Did something happen while you were out there?"

"I sparred with a few of them. It... was nice, actually."

“I see. I hope you were able to show them a few things. I’m sure they could use it.” _Much as I needed it_ , he thought, remembering how she had overpowered him in the yard just a few days earlier. She seemed pleased, and he was glad that his men hadn't shared his reaction to her. "And if they like you for it, all the better."

She took a long drink, then slid a piece of parchment across the table to him. "I wrote Anora a new letter, to replace the one I haven't mailed yet. Look it over for me?"

He nodded and took another sip, bracing himself to read it. His eyes flicked to hers for just a moment before he pulled the letter off the table. He read over it slowly, trying to keep a neutral expression, until he found the last line.

 _In the intrest of ful disclozur, I am sleeping with Teagan._

He took a deep breath.

"I can see your spelling has improved." His ever-present smile was back in place, but it turned small and tight-lipped as he looked up at her. She was nervous and worrying at her lower lip, sitting with shoulders hunched forward as she leaned across the table, watching him. When he caught her eye, she downed the rest of her wine and then put the cup aside.

"I- yes," she said, blushing. "I had _The History of Rainesfere_ open the entire time. To check against. Thank you."

She scuffed her boot against the stone beneath the table before adding, "And I felt that the situation- my earlier letter no longer reflected it."

He put the letter back on the table and slid it to her, focusing his eyes on hers.

“And you feel... the last is worth mentioning now? To Anora?” He had to force the words out, they were hard, edged as though they were painful for him to say. And they were, he wouldn’t keep from addressing it- she had obviously wanted him to see the mention, and that she no longer asked for the possibility of another assignment.

He supposed he should be pleased by it and he wanted to be. A somewhat public display of affection, the camaraderie she built with the guards, how she felt... whatever she felt, it was strong enough to mention it to Anora. He should be pleased.

And yet.

Cauthrien shifted awkwardly across the table from him. Had she intended to cheer him with the mention? The look of uncertainty creasing her brow suggested as much, as did her wavering voice when she spoke again.

"It will surely get back to her soon. Especially if we... stop pretending that nobody in the Keep knows. ... Would you prefer I remove it? If it bothers you to know she'll see it-"

“You would remove it?” he asked, not intending to do any such thing, but surprised by her offer all the same. “If I asked?”

Cauthrien shrugged, sitting back. "Of course I would."

That at last softened the edges around his eyes, his lips. He reached for his wine again and took another sip, this one slow, thoughtful. When he set it back down he leaned forward, forearms flat on the table.

“I won’t ask you to do so,” he said softly. “I- I think you’re right, in that she’ll find out soon enough. Though I would like to think my staff wouldn’t be so loose-lipped.” But he knew better that people talked, servants to friends, family, the people they worked alongside every day. Eventually, Anora would know. It was better for Cauthrien if the news came from her - something she had said days ago.

"But if you asked, I would," she said with a small smile. "It concerns both of us."

“It does,” he said with a nod. _Both politically and emotionally_. He wanted to ask, _why now_ or _because of this afternoon_ , but he held his tongue.

She tugged now at the end of her ponytail, considering him. "But I also... feel done with hiding it. Not just because others know, either."

Something began to unfurl in his chest, the tension in his shoulders easing not from drink but from comfort. He slid one of his hands across the table, fingers spread and reaching for her. “Thank you.”

A small smile touched her lips and she reached out as well, settling her hand atop his.

"You're welcome. I'll have it sent out with the morning post, then. ... Teagan."

His name. She had said his name, in the open, where anyone could hear it, with no title, no propriety. He had used hers often enough without care, but to hear her do the same-

He smiled, and it was genuine, his fingers curling tight around her as he squeezed her hand. “What do you think she’ll do? Our Queen?”

He could think of several scenarios and while many of them he found somewhat hilarious (even Anora tearing through the castle in a fit of rage was funny enough of it’s own merit), the threat she would recall and possibly issue some punishment for Cauthrien was not.

Cauthrien looked thoughtful a moment. "... She may call me home, though the message might not arrive before three weeks are up. She may also, once I leave, send somebody else to investigate you. It depends on how much she thinks I've been- compromised. And how much she thinks you really are plotting something."

Her thumb stroked along his hand. "Or she might not care, even if it's hard to imagine. I've begun to wonder if she didn't send me here to just get me out of her hair, rather than to question you."

“I doubt this was exactly her plan, whatever her reasons for sending you might have been.” He frowned down at her letter. “I guess we’ll find out when her response arrives.”

Teagan tried not to think about what the other options Anora would have for investigating him, who else she might send, if it came to that. He shrugged and turned his eyes back on Cauthrien, squeezing her hand in his.

“It’s not quite the romantic reveal I imagine her Antivan mysteries having though, is it?”

Cauthrien snorted, grinning. "Do you have a more- romantic idea? I don't exactly know how her books handle it. I suppose I could go on at length with details..."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head at that, and he couldn't help but laugh.

"No, not really," he said with a shrug. "Just thinking out loud. I'm not really up for sharing anything more than you think is necessary with her, queen or not."

**\--**

The meal passed in their now accustomed fashion - Cauthrien ate, more than she was used to eating or had eaten before coming to Rainesfere, and Teagan picked at his own food and watched her. They talked about little things: the state of the guards' fighting skills, the seasoning of the food, how nice the wine was.

They used each other's names without titles more than once.

At the end, Cauthrien rose to her feet almost reluctantly, then reached to take her letter back. There had been no interruptions to their meal by Raud or by any runners from the search party, but she took the solitude as a gift and not more cause to worry. As she folded the parchment again, she looked to Teagan. What else would there be? A spelling lesson? A quiet invitation back to his room- or should she invite him to hers?

He met her questioning look with one of his own, smiling.

“Have you had enough then?” he asked as he took the last sip of his wine and then pushed away from the table. “I know I’m finished, at least with dinner.” Dinner seemed to have helped his mood. He wasn’t completely the seemingly carefree noble that he usually was, but he was also no longer as melancholy and brooding as he had been that afternoon.

She nodded. "Enough of dinner, yes." Cauthrien licked her lips in search of the next words. "... Will you be retiring for the night?" A no would invite suggestions of how to fill the time; she could think of a few. But she still couldn't read him entirely and didn't know if he would prefer to retreat again.

He shook his head and moved around the table to stand near her. “No, I don’t think I’m quite ready to.” He arched a brow, a sly question. “And you?” He stepped closer and then spared a quick glance around the room to see if anyone was nearby. Alone, he leaned in reached a hand to her face, his thumb a gentle caress against her cheek.

That drew a smile from her. It was unexpected even to her; who would have thought that a potentially public display of affection would have made her smile, openly? But she did, and leaned into it.

"I'm a little tired, but hardly ready to sleep."

His smile broadened. “It is the same for me.”

“And, I’m sorry about this afternoon,” he sad softly. “I am.”

"I still don't understand what was wrong," she admitted with a tight little smile. "... But I will make whatever it was better." She couldn't find Edlyn and bring her home herself; she was stuck in Rainesfere feeling powerless instead, feeling embarrassed for having accused the wrong man. But if she could fix this, at least? It was something.

And he seemed to be recovering. It was with a small smile that he shrugged and said, “I could try to explain, though I’m not sure I could do it well.”

"This morning," she said, moving beyond it to somewhere easier, "we- discussed the possibility of you coming to my room instead? But as I said, it does have a smaller bed. It's smaller all around, actually. And still filled with Edlyn's practice writings. It- may not be the best place at the moment."

“It was a joke, mostly." His fingers slid from her cheek and he took her hand, twining their fingers together. "Though on a different day, I would not be adverse to waking up in your bed, instead of mine.”

"On a different day?" She rubbed at her neck as she laughed and smiled. The marks he'd left were quite visible, her skin consciously left bare. She went all in or not at all, and she'd made her decision for the rest of the month. The guard had been sure to see it. The servants too.

It didn't fill her with the trepidation she expected.

"And what do you feel today?"

“Today?” He smiled and squeezed her hand, giving it a gentle tug towards him. “Or tonight, I suppose. I’d be happy to be with you wherever you want to be.”

"... The stables?" she offered with a wry grin. But then she shook her head and stepped that last little bit closer to him, close enough that should she have wanted to, she could have found his lips with her own. But for the moment, she just stood near him, considering.

Did she have the confidence and conviction needed to walk straight back to Teagan's room with him?

No. Well, at least not at that very moment, but she didn't want to part ways. "We could- take a walk? Along the battlements, maybe? You've been sitting in offices too much."

“I would like that,” he said with a nod. He was still smiling and looked at her hopefully. “Shall we then?” He let her hand go and held his up, elbow extended as a gentleman would for a proper lady. “If you’re ready?”

She eyed that extended arm with a small pause, as if unsure whether she should take it. She remembered vaguely him calling her my lady when he'd brought her back to her room her first night in Rainesfere. Had he offered her his arm then?

But, of course, things had changed there, too. If she was going to- be public with a bann, there were certain small rules she would have to learn to play by. And so she took his arm, even though it made her vaguely uncomfortable, feel vaguely out of place.

"I am. Lead on- you know your keep better than I."

He gave her hand a pat with his free one and led her outside. The battlements were easily gained, the journey brief enough by his side. It was a beautiful evening, cool but not cold yet, the air moist and carrying the scene of the fields around the keep. There was rain coming; she could feel it in the air.

She spared a momentary thought to the search party and hoped that any signs they might find wouldn't be harmed from whatever weather came their way.

As they stopped he let his arm fall, grabbing her hand and pulling it into his. Smiling, he tugged playfully and keeping an eye on her, took a step away.

She quirked a brow and followed him a step. "Yes?"

“This is nice,” he said and pulled her another step, then another. “Outside, even.” He let out a quiet, breathy chuckle. He squeezed her hand and, without moving, pulled her a bit closer.

When he spoke again, his voice was more reserved, a little uncertain.“Cauthrien, I know this can’t be what you expected." He looked down at their joined hands a bit nervously. “Even without this investigation, it hasn’t been easy.” Teagan pursed his lips, brows furrowing, and after a moment he looked back up to her. “But are you at least... happy here? With me?”

"You know I didn't expect anything. Good or bad," she said, smiling thinly to hide her sudden nervousness. Thoughts from the day before, of betrothals and what her fate would have been had she not joined the army and had the support of Loghain Mac Tir, returned unbidden.

That wasn't what he meant, of course, but the moment was all the same a little too intimate.

But she didn't run, instead just looking down at their hands. "... But I am. Happy, that is. More than I think I rightly should be." The last was confessed in a quiet voice, her words rough. "That is to say- sometimes it doesn't make sense to me."

He stroked his thumb along her hand. “I’m not sure it makes sense to me either at times. I’m glad you’re happy, though - it's the least we can hope for. I like to think I know what I’m doing most of the time,” he said with a shake of his head, “but right now, I’m not sure that I do. With any of this. It’s a bit overwhelming.”

"That's one way to put it," she said, that thin, wry smile appearing again. "... I feel bad, now, for hoping that something interesting would happen that I could write to Anora about. It's hard not to think that wish somehow brought us..."

 _Edlyn_. She sighed.

"I would have liked the month to... have just been us. Without this distraction."

“Indeed,” he said with a small nod.

And then he shook his head, leaning in close enough that she lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “I should write Anora a letter of my own, should I not?” he asked, voice a whisper and his lips not so very far from hers. “Dear Queen Anora,” he began, his tone irreverent and playful. “I have slept with your Ser Cauthrien and would very much like to continue to do so.”

She laughed as she fit herself against his side. Her lips brushed his lightly in that moment, and then she shook her head, still grinning. "To see her reaction to that," she mused. "Can you imagine it? I think she might just sit there for a very long time. And then set the letter down and not manage to find her quill again for a week."

Loghain's reaction would have been- even funnier, thinking of it now. The thought, far from unsettling her, made her smile broaden until the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkled from it. He leaned in and kissed her gently, letting out a small chuckle after.

“It would be worth watching, for certain.” He focused on her for a moment and then raised his hand to brush her hair back from her shoulder. “However, if you’re giving her notice, it would be wise for me to somehow respond.” He smiled and kissed Cauthrien’s cheek. “I suspect,” he whispered, “she will wonder about my _intentions_.”

"Mm, yes. I suppose you're right. What will you tell her? And will you sign it _Bann Disappointment_?" Her smile remained in place, a hand smoothing over the front of his doublet, reaching up to idly touch at his braid. She had seen him rebraid it just that morning, had taken it down the night before as she combed her fingers through his hair and dragged him close.

He laughed. “I should. Though I don’t know that she would appreciate the humor.” He tilted his face towards her hand, kissing at her palm.

“I don’t really know what to tell her. Admit the truth of it, as you have, I suppose? She’ll likely believe me to have some ulterior motive, much as she did when she sent you to me.” He chuckled and corrected, “To _investigate_ me.”

"And I am still investigating," she cautioned, shivering at his lips against her skin. "If you do anything dastardly, I will still report it. Anora may doubt my objectivity - and I may, too - but I do know why I'm officially here."

Even if it wasn't something she cared much about anymore.

He grinned at that. Leaning in to her, he moved his lips from her hand, to her neck. Lightly, his lips at her ear and voice a whisper, he said, “I do have wicked thoughts, _Ser_ Cauthrien. Though they are only for you, and nothing our Queen needs to know about.”

Softly, he kissed her ear, her neck, tracing out the marks he had left the night before. “Very- wicked- indeed,” he whispered, punctuating each word with a kiss.

" _Maker_ ," she mumbled, reaching out a hand to steady herself on the closest crenellation. _Discretion_ was on her lips, her usual chiding, but she couldn't bring it from her throat. They weren't trying for the same sort of discretion anymore, and she didn't _want_ to hide completely.

But still, was this the best place?

"We're in public," she pointed out, voice throaty and thin.

“We are,” he teased, brushing a kiss against her chin. It was a challenge - a question - and he followed it, flicked his tongue over her bottom lip then pushed his lips against hers. It was a light kiss, like all his others, patient but inviting and he pulled away after only a moment and gave her a questioning look.

"If people see," she managed, uncertain. He was only kissing her; it was only her mind that went beyond that, sought her belly where it coiled with heat stoked by the relief of having him against her, of not having to hide. She gave him a kiss in return, a little warmer, a little more forceful than his, her fingers curling against his shoulder, winding into the fabric of his doublet.

He sunk into her kiss, returning it with matched force. He pulled her as close as he could, his arms around her back and shoulders. Trailing light touches along the curve of her neck, the angles of her cheek, her jaw, he slid his hand along her throat. Slowly, that hand dipped forward, a light caress along her front.

She had promised to stop comparing him to Loghain, but it was inevitable. Loghain hadn't always taken her in an office or a bedroom; once or twice it had been in an equipment shed on the yard, another time in a small storage room in the palace. Those were public spaces, too.

But that had felt far different. In _this_ moment, _this_ place, it felt affectionate and playful instead of desperately needy. Her hands found his hips and kept him close, humming approval into their kiss.

His hand stopped somewhere around her waist, fingers dancing along the edge of her tunic, his thumb pressed against her making small, slow circles. He kept his lips against hers, parted slightly and his tongue tentative against them.

She let him in with a low sound back in her throat, fingers tightening against him. Just a little. They'd indulge just a little, enjoy the freedom that came from not hiding. The night was good and they could do nothing but wait - wait, and live the time they had left together.

Her own fingers danced along his hips and then under the edge of his doublet, feeling for the skin she now knew the texture of so well, the warmth of.

He took a step forward, pressing her against the crenellation where her hand had rested moments before. He sought skin with his touch, and when he found it, fingers slipped up beneath the hem of her tunic, he deepened the kiss. It brought another sigh from her throat, another needy little noise, and she leaned heavily on the stone behind her, using it and its chill to keep her steady.

Her hands left his hips to trail up his sides and around his back, until she could splay her fingers over his shoulder blades in a bid to keep herself upright and close to him and not just at his mercy.

There were distant sounds of people working, of the world carrying on, of the weather, but they were for all intents and purposes alone. She let go of herself into him.

As he took hold of her waist, Teagan groaned, breathy but low and deep- wanting. He murmured something like her name as he pulled away from their kiss, to move his lips to the curve of her neck, teasing nips down to her collar.

" _Maker_ ," she whispered, almost just an exhale, sliding one of her hands from under his shirt and into his hair to hold him close to her. All her weight rested on the stone behind her and she let her head fall back, her eyes close. Her fingers pressed tight patterns to his skin, her hips shifted, rolling towards him.

It drew a louder, more urgent sound from his lips and he pulled his head back so he could look at her. He kissed at her column of her throat and he bit at the other side of her neck, the side he had left unattended. His hands pushed her tunic up, fingers digging roughly at her skin until they brushed the fabric of her breastband.

 _Outside_ , she thought to remind him, but his mouth on hers again, distracting, and the spiral of heat at his touch was too much. She was losing control of the situation, and fast, and she repeated again and again that they were effectively in private. She didn't want to push him away. She kissed him deeply instead, a moan slipping from her throat.

The only control she managed to cling to was how she didn't move to undress him. Her hand under his shirt stayed stroking at his skin, clutching at his back, but she never moved to work at the toggles of his doublet or the laces of his pants.

He pressed her against the stone, thumbs caressing and kneading at her breasts. He rocked against her insistently, his hips rolling forward, his thigh pushing between her legs. She groaned and parted her legs enough that his thigh could fit between them. There was something about this, the needy push, the night air around them, the fact that they were upright, that made her anxious and aroused, responding more than she had intended. Rocking her hips against him was too good, sending shudders dancing through her, and she arched her back to press her chest more firmly into his hands.

There was a fine line she was walking, between needy lover and wanton dalliance. No more than this- they would have no more than this before finding some room. His room. The office. Something, somewhere, where a closed door gave them privacy and her the reminder of respect. She knew he respected her, but her skin being bared to the night air both wound her up and made her uncertain. Before, they had barely touched hands in public. Now, he would make her cry out on the walls of his keep?

He pressed against her, fingers more focused, more demanding against her breasts, even through the fabric of her band, but he did not try to move beneath it. He did, however, lower his head, to press kisses lower, as far as the collar of her tunic would allow and then stepped a leg back enough to nip at the skin just above her the tight swath of fabric binding her chest.

In the brief moment when his lips left hers, she whispered, " _Maker_ , Teagan-" and a handful of wordless needy sounds, arching as he kissed at her skin, whining as he pulled away.

He moaned and rocked his hips against hers again, then leaned forward to kiss her, to quiet her, to drink her in. It was hard to protest when she felt as she did, a little wild, a little irreverent. But the feeling was still there, the uncertainty, and she _wanted_. She wanted badly, and it couldn't happen out here.

She leaned back enough to gasp, "Inside. We need to go inside."

He let out a low noise, almost a growl against her throat as she moved her mouth away from his. He moved his leg, sliding it to the side and then between her legs again. His head fell forward, hair falling in his face as he pressed his forehead to her cheek. He took a breath even as he tilted his chin forward, a kiss against her jaw, but said nothing.

She forced her hands out from under his doublet, instead reaching up to catch his jaw in her hands, thumbs stroking over the short stubble along his jawline. "Inside," she repeated, wanting nothing more than to kiss him again.

It was an odd feeling, foreign, but if this was public - well. It crossed a line of seriousness, of the nature of their relationship, and she wanted the respect of a private room.

Cauthrien didn't want to be known as anything beyond - worse - than just his lover, and rutting on the battlements would not help her.

He leaned into her hands and then tilted his head up enough to look at her. His lips parted as if he would speak, but no sound came out and, finally, his hands moved to the stone behind her. He pushed himself away and looked to the ground, taking another breath, this one deeper than the last.

When he looked up again, it was with a nod and a murmured assent. “Inside.”

Her hands dropped from his face, but as she pushed herself up from the stone, body protesting and throbbing with frustrated desire, she felt- better. Very much better. She touched fingers to the side of his hand.

"Your room, yes?" she asked, voice pitched low but not to a whisper. Polite, but not afraid. Not paranoid that somebody listened.

"I'll walk to it with you."

**\--**

Teagan's thoughts were still hazy and focused only on the warmth of her, but those six words made him stop before he tried to kiss her again, before he could think again of the great boon that was her penchant for wearing tight-fitted leggings.

His lips twitched, a small smile in place already at the thought of the two of them, a bit messy, a little flush, making their way to his room. It wasn’t this- it wasn’t what it could be in the cool evening air, cold stone and little else around them, but it was her small surrender to him.

He nodded, “Or yours.” After sweeping a hand through his hair, he reached down to grab her hand. He quirked a brow in question as he twined his fingers with hers.

"Papers on the floor," she reminded him, squeezing his hand and pulling him in the direction of the keep proper. "Or I would, if only for the change." She offered him a small smile, thumbing at her lips with her free hand, looking a little bashful, a little aroused - and most of all, relieved and pleased.

“Right, the papers,” he said. His smile was indulgent, his attention wholly hers. He followed her, happily, hand in hers. They passed a guard on their way inside and Teagan was torn between averting his eyes and pulling his hand away, or giving the man a challenging stare. He chose the latter, with a smile.

Cauthrien also didn't look away. It was a thrilling and nervewracking moment, to see her abandoning in some measure her discretion. And then it passed, and they were just walking, hand in hand, through the hall.

When they got to the door to his bedroom, he pulled her inside quickly, giddiness of their walk through the house surging through him. He turned, body against hers, as he reached a hand behind her to close the door.

He stepped forward, pushing her back up against the closed door. For once, there was nothing of discretion or sound or worry on his mind as he kissed her. He brought his hand away from the door, grabbing at the back of her neck and lacing his fingers into her hair, while his other hand went to her hip, pulling her close.

This. _Maker_ , but this... abandon was what he wanted, both from her and himself. He let himself sink against her, and into the kiss.

She groaned into his mouth as her back contacted the wood, her hands going to his hips. She met his fervent kiss with her own, filled with little nips and long swipes of her tongue. It was intoxicating, how well she knew where to touch to make him rise, and he groaned as her hands slipped beneath his doublet again. They lingered against his skin only a moment, a few dancing plucks of his arousal, before she pulled away enough to begin working at the clasps.

His hand moved from her hip, trailing across the front of her leggings, already searching for the laces, for a way to remove the barriers between them. He moaned into her kisses, the gentle swipes of her tongue, the less gentle teeth on his lips and he returned them in kind. His skin felt warm at the touch of her hand just the feel of her fingers stirring him.

He let loose his grip on her hair to work both hands against her leggings, pulling her hips just away from the door as he worked. As soon as the laces were undone, his hands were against her skin. He tugged her tunic over her head, casting it aside. In an instant, his fingers found her hips again, slipped beneath her smalls and cupped her rear, pulling her close. She rolled her hips forward against his, squirmed as if to push her leggings down without using her hands. Her hands she kept busy between their chests, and when the fasteners were all undone, she slid his doublet from his shoulders hastily, hands spreading over his shoulders and gripping his upper arms.

Leaning into her, he moved his hands with the roll of her hips, pushing her leggings down. He pulled his arms away after that only long enough to let his doublet fall to the floor, and slid a foot behind him to kick it out of the way. When he could, he wrapped his arms around her, careful not to crush hers.

His head dipped down to nip at her the curve from her neck to her shoulder.

“Cauthrien,” he breathed. It was needy, wanting, a prayer and demand in a name.

She twined her arms around his neck, reaching back to undo the fastener on her breastband, letting it fall as she leaned against him. She let her head tilt back and returned a throaty, "Teagan, Maker-"

He slid a hand down between them reaching for the lacings on his breeches, tugging them loose. He pressed Cauthrien to the door, running his other hand down from her shoulder, kneading at a breast. He only reluctantly trailed his touch down her stomach until he could bring his other hand to finish undoing his breeches, sliding them and his smalls down from his hips, toeing his shoes off as they fell to the floor.

She touched her hands to his chest, pushing him back just enough that she could kneel and pull the laces of her boots loose quickly, shoving them off and to the side along with her leggings and smalls. He ached as he watched the curve of her back, the flex of her shoulders, and as soon as she was on her feet again, he pressed up against her. Her mouth sought his and he gave it to her eagerly.

He reached for her hip with a hand and with the little space between them he leaned down to kiss the tops of her breasts. As he kissed his way back up her chest to her lips, with his other hand he guided himself to her entrance. She lifted her leg up over his hip and circled him with her arms, gasping and groaning against his mouth. He teased briefly, before dipping down enough to tilt his hips and thrust inside her with her name on his lips.

He pulled at her, lifting her against the door and letting it bear the weight of them as he thrust fully into her. She brought her other leg up, hooking both around his hips as she panted for breath, a cry of need broken on her lips. It took a moment before he had them both balanced against the door and could find a rhythm to press into her. He could not be gentle with his hands on her hips and thighs and his fingertips dug into her as he moved, but it only spurred her on more, her hips twitching against his and her nails raking across his back.

His lips found hers and his tongue pressed greedily into her mouth when he wasn’t whispering _Cauthrien_ or _Maker_ or _yes_ against her breath.

The door rattled in time with their rhythm, and they both laughed at it.

His was not just driven just by the sound of the door but also the thought that anyone could hear them, that there wasn’t any question about what was happening between them. It was a kind of freedom, liberation and exultation. He rocked his hips harder and leaned into her to feel his skin on hers.

She left kisses on his lips, at the corners of his mouth, her lips sliding over his jaw and to his throat, then back again. She suckled and nipped and he groaned, pace quickening as she bore her hips against him. There was a softness in her kisses, and a need. He felt nearly done in by the sensation of both as he rocked into her. His chest felt tight at he met her kisses with his own, thrusting against her and hearing the door thunk behind her. He flicked his tongue across her lips, her tongue, caught her bottom lip between his teeth then kissed it and let it go, tilting his chin to kiss along her jaw and to leave fresh marks on her neck.

Her head fell back against the wood, her eyes fluttering closed, lips parted in a cry that fast turned silent, but not before his name passed them.

He found her pulse with a kiss, licked and then pressed his lips hard against it. More than once he had stifled her cries with his kisses, but now they urged him on. For all her remembrances of discretion in the past week, he thrust into her, claimed her. He moved quickly against her, his control slipping, breath catching. He moved his hand from her back to the door to brace them both, thumb close enough to brush her cheek.

She turned her head to kiss his hand. Her kisses remained light and feathery, her lips more occupied with his name, with groans, with _please, yes, Maker_ -

Her back ached from the unyielding strength of the door and her thighs trembled with holding her up on each of his retreats, and it was with a loud cry that she came, bucking violently and letting her head drop forward. Her arms tried to pull him tight against her, hands alternately digging into his skin and smoothing over it.

Her cry was nearly all it took for him. He thrust once, twice more, in quick succession, and then with a deep noise muffled against her shoulder he found his own release in her. A moment later, he pulled his lips away from her and swallowed to wet his throat that was dry now in the silence. He wanted to whisper to her as she trembled against him. Of love, or perhaps just, _please stay_.

He said neither.

His legs and back ached as the frantic need that had pushed them against the door faded from him. He let out a small grunt as he leaned away, tenderly pulled himself from her, helped her unhook her legs from him so he could stand properly.

Cauthrien groaned, not a sound of pleasure but of coming back to herself, as she put her feet on the ground and pushed away from the door. She was unsteady on her feet and stayed close to him, fingers curling around his wrist to keep him tethered to her. Looking at him with an embarrassed smile, she threaded her other hand through her hair.

He smiled and leaned in, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. He didn’t exactly feel awkward, or shy, though he thought maybe he should after the noise they’d made, the way the door had rattled behind her. Instead, he was only happy, fulfilled in a way he didn’t think he could put into words. He didn’t try.

With her hand still on his wrist he pulled her close, his other arm sliding around her waist to embrace her.

"Mm." She curled an arm around him in return, nuzzling at his jaw and then taking a light kiss. "That was..." She chuckled, quietly, ducking her forehead to his shoulder. "Well."

He laughed with her. “Indeed.”

**\--**

No word came of Edlyn's fate.

The search parties sent back messengers every few days with nothing encouraging. No trails were found. No news came from the villages they passed through. There was no sign of Edlyn or Owen, and Owen never returned from Hertwig.

The investigation ground to a halt.

It was an unsettling feeling, knowing that there was nothing that could be done, that they had unravelled things only to be held back by reality. There was no way to find them, or seemed to be, and all they were left with was a note and writing practice. A single incriminating poem.

But where before the stress would have pulled Cauthrien away from Teagan, made her frustrated and distant, now it made her go to him for support. She spent long hours with him, spent many nights in his bed or with him in hers in turn. She moved her clothing to his chambers. She moved her writing instruments. She wrote many of her letters from his writing desk.

When she could forget about Edlyn, it was almost idyllic.

Ten days after the search party set out, Cauthrien sat penning an update to Anora. Her letter revealing her affair with Teagan had likely not even reached Denerim, and so she wrote as if unaware of any particular censure. She noted goings-on in the bannorn, Teagan's disposition, the lack of communication from the Warden-Commander. She even made a note of his unwavering (and very welcome) attention on her - proof that it was no ploy.

And then she went to date the missive, and froze.

 _20 August_.

It wasn't a particularly special day. It commemorated no event and was only sixteen days since she had arrived in Rainesfere. But it was also over a month since she remembered her last bleeding. The last time had been several weeks before Funalis, she remembered that clearly, and that left her-

No.

She capped her ink and stood up, rolling her shoulders back. She felt no different, and what she had told Teagan had been true - there was nothing to worry about. There was no way she could be with child. Loghain, who had fathered a child, had been with her countless times over many months, and she had never missed a bleeding. She was barren; there could be no other answer.

The month, she decided, had just been stressful. And with that set aside (though with a hand settled lightly over her belly), she blotted the letter, folded it, and went to post it.

**\--**

It bothered him every day when he woke up and there was no news from the search party. Days and evenings with Cauthrien helped alleviate some of the anxious tension - most of it, even - but it was always there again in the morning. What time he spent without Cauthrien was almost always in his office, with Raud, working. With each message that came, he hoped it would bring news of Edlyn. It never did, except to say, _nothing new_.

What he could enjoy was being with Cauthrien, sharing meals and not caring how the staff looked at them when he reached for her hand over the table, or led her from the table after dinner or a spelling lesson in his office, to his room (or hers). It wasn’t that their relationship wasn’t minded. There were several people, Raud among them, that seemed to disapprove of the two of them together. Where everyone but Raud was concerned, he told himself that while he understood their concern, he was happy and that with time, the focus on them would eventually fade.

But when it came to Raud, he couldn’t escape the older man’s disapproval. What he did have to counter it was the knowledge that Cauthrien’s appointment was only through the month and that Anora had been informed of their relationship. The combination of those things seemed to make his senseschal at least learn to keep further comment to himself. On more than one occasion, Teagan wondered if Raud kept quiet with that knowledge in the hopes that when Anora’s response came, there would be official word recalling Cauthrien to Denerim. At least Raud seemed continually disappointed she had yet to respond, looking as constantly for her letter as they all did for a message from the search party.

Teagan hoped Anora would never respond.

**\--**

It was nearly two weeks after the search party had left that word finally came.

It came not in the form of a letter, or the return of the guard, but the return of Owen, the butcher’s son.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The butcher's boy returns with the whole story. Cauthrien and Teagan ride south in search of Edlyn, hoping only that they can make it in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: T  
> Chapter Warnings: Dark. Violence and abduction.

Cauthrien sat in one of the practice yards, sweat slicked and pleasantly exhausted. One of Teagan's household guard sat on the bench beside her. The guard had uniformly accepted or decided not to care about her relationship with their bann, and she had taken to regularly sparring with them, working with them- laughing with them. She had missed that, she realized, that physical and jovial connection to others who wore armor, who slept in barracks, who lived on field rations.

Hilde, the woman beside her, who had blonde hair cropped close to her head and a scar that ran the length of her left arm, had once stood against her men when Cauthrien had ordered the first waves of attack against Rainesfere. And yet now they spoke like old friends, shared stories of barracks life, discussed the state of recovery in the bannorn.

It was almost surreal.

But she knew the acceptance of the guard was not shared by all of the servants, and especially not by the people of Rainesfere beyond the keep walls. She had heard whispers of how, now that word had trickled out to the fields, the farmers and shopkeeps had considered curtailing their supply of food and goods to the keep to make a statement. It made her uneasy, that Teagan's support could be taken away, and because of her. But there was only a week left - and then she would be gone.

The thought filled her with dread, but she countered it every time with the remembrance that it was necessary.

She was pulling her arming jacket back on when a servant came into the yard, motioning for her. His name was Corell- a middle-aged elven man with greying hair who Teagan seemed to trust. His presence could only mean that Teagan wanted her, and she bid goodbye to her companion and crossed the field to him.

"Yes?"

"My lord would like to see you in the audience hall," Corell said, and though his jaw was tense and his lips pursed, she could get no more from him. Her heart lodged in her throat on the walk, and she could only hope that the search party had found something. She could only look sideways at him, frowning and worrying and uncertain as he led her back into the keep halls. She kept busy instead twitching her jacket into place, retying her hair.

When Cauthrien arrived, Teagan was pacing. Raud stood close by and frowned at her as she entered. She cleared her throat and Teagan looked up, pausing and then crossing the room, a hand outstretched.

She took it. "What's happened? Corell only said you wanted to see me." She glanced around the room, to Raud, to the otherwise empty meeting hall. "Is it something to do with Edlyn?" Her stomach twisted, and didn't ease at his distant expression.

"Gerald sent word, Owen has returned home."

 _Owen_. Cauthrien took a deep breath. Teagan took her hand, uncaring of the audience, like there had never been a reason to hesitate. "He has news of Edlyn," he continued, "and Gerald is bringing both Owen and Oswin here. I don’t know much more than that, though they will be here soon enough." With a small smile he added, "I knew you would want to be here."

"Owen has- But not with Edlyn?" Her heart sank. It had been too long for Owen to have just returned from picking up the salt - salt which had, according to the runners, never been claimed. But for him to return without Edlyn, left Cauthrien unable to return Teagan's smile.

The silence, at least, wasn't long; there came a soft knock at the hall doors, and then they were pushed open by the guard, admitting Gerald, Oswin, and Owen. Edlyn was not with them - and the boy looked terrified.

Cauthrien pulled her hand away from Teagan and moved to stand behind him, hands clasped tight behind her back.

Teagan let his hands fall back to his sides as he turned to the men. His eyes went to Owen and hers followed. The boy was clearly frightened; Oswin beside him seemed angry and looked pointedly at Teagan, ignoring her, while Gerald appeared only uneasy and looked to Teagan with worry in his eyes.

"Mayor, what news?" Teagan asked.

Gerald stepped forward and glanced warily between Owen and Oswin. When he looked back to Teagan, there was a noticeable slump in Gerald’s shoulders, a nervous bob in his throat before he spoke.

"Owen here was with Edlyn," he paused to clear his throat. "They left town together," - a glance to Oswin who merely nodded - "and it seems a group of men took Edlyn from him, a few days ago."

A group of men? Her expression darkened. A group of men, taking a young girl - and it was not the search party.

Whatever last hope she had clung to fell away.

"Where?" she asked without pause, unused to holding her tongue during Teagan's meetings after just a few weeks by his side. "Were you near any major roads when it happened? What direction were the two of you moving?" She fixed her gaze on Owen, crossing her arms over her chest.

Owen nearly jumped, looking to his father. Teagan took a step forward on reflex, a calming hand outstretched. When Owen didn’t respond right away, Teagan repeated her questions. "Owen, we need to know where you were. And which way they were headed."

The boy looked up at Teagan, eyes wide with fear. There was worry there, too: for himself, but also for Edlyn. Owen blinked, swallowed and looked between Teagan and Cauthrien a few times.

"We- we went south," he said, his voice small.

She took a deep breath.

 _South_.

That had been the one direction they hadn't sent search parties. The land was blighted, the path nearly impossible. But if they had thought, if they had only considered-

"There was a road, but we didn’t stay on it and these men- they came out of nowhere one night and they wanted to talk to Edlyn." His words were harried, as if he needed to get them all out quickly in order to not have to think about what he was saying. "We tried to run but they had horses, and they pulled her away from me. I tried to chase them-" Owen stopped, mouth open, mid-thought, as Oswin put a hand on his boy’s shoulder.

After a moment, Owen closed his mouth and looked down at his feet. He mumbled, "I couldn’t keep up with them..."

"How many days out were you when it happened? How far south had you gone?" Cauthrien asked, trying to soften her voice, but her nerves were keyed up and _work_ left little room for the softer version of her.

Owen tried to take a deep breath and then looked at Cauthrien. "I followed them for a day and then I came home." He stopped and looked down to his hand, fingers twitching as though he was counting in his head. "I think it’s been... six days?"

Nearly a week. Beside her, Teagan let out a slow breath and turned to look at her. _Will we find her after a week_? The question was as clear on his face as though he had spoken it aloud.

"What direction did they go?" she pressed, taking a step forward, her frown firm and unmoving. A week was too long. A week could take them halfway to Denerim on horseback, if they wanted, or up to Gherlen's Pass, or down into the uncharted Wilds. And if they did find Edlyn, a week spent with men who would snatch her from horseback- her heart sank.

Oswin cleared his throat but said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on Cauthrien. She ignored him. She didn't need his questions or censure, only his son's answers. And his son was worrying at his lower lip, fingers curling around the hem of his tunic. She waited.

"East. I think. They were moving a lot faster than me." Owen looked down at his boots and toed at the ground. "Could’ve been a little more south."

"Owen... these men, how did they look?" Teagan asked, and Cauthrien grimaced. _Wild? Ferelden_?

"I think they could’ve been Fereldan..." Owen mumbled.

She swore under her breath. From a possibly deluded Orlesian to Fereldan bandits - this was all wrong.

After a careful breath, she addressed Owen again. He was ashen-faced and tense from head to toe, but it was the last question she had to ask. She pushed forward. "Can you give us any description of where you were, at any point?" Cauthrien glanced to Teagan. "I'll take some men and ride out to see if we can find her, but I need to know where to start."

"We found a river and followed that east," Owen said. "There was a lake, that’s where we were when they found us." He looked up at Cauthrien, eyes shining with tears. "They were following the road."

It would be difficult to catch up, but if she went with a small contingent of guards, on horseback, they might have a chance of finding them.

Teagan looked to her. "Might not be too far south of Redcliffe..." With his voice pitched lower he added, "though they have quite the headstart."

She returned, equally quiet, "I'm aware. But if they were working near the water, they'll likely stay close to it, especially this time of year. I'll do what I can."

Cauthrien thought of all the guards she had come to know in the last few weeks, already building a small team. She needed men and women she could trust and who could keep up. Turning to Teagan, she bowed towards him briefly. "With your leave, Bann Teagan, I'll head out by sunset."

"You have it."

The boy was staring at Cauthrien worried, but hopeful. His hands had stilled on the hem of his tunic, and there was a flicker of something in his eye that hadn't been there before.

"Owen, is there anything else you can tell us?" Teagan asked before Cauthrien could.

Gerald and Oswin shared a glance over the boy’s head and Teagan arched a brow in question. Gerald finally said, "Owen explained about the scene we found. Edlyn wrote the letter and Owen killed that wether by the house."

Cauthrien nodded, slowly.

They'd been right - but it hadn't stopped this.

Without another word, Cauthrien left the hall. Teagan's decision of what, if anything, to do with Owen was his own, and for once Cauthrien had no opinion on the matter. Instead, she went back to her room, where she still kept her equipment and pack, and after seeing that everything was assembled, she took it all down to the yard to begin the task of pulling together her team.

**\--**

Had it not been for the three men so near by, he would have watched her leave. He didn’t. Instead, he watched as Owen’s shoulders slumped with the admittance of what he and Edlyn had done. The boy stared at his boots and wrung his hands. Oswin still had his hand on his son’s shoulder and he did watch Cauthrien leave- his brows furrowed and his mouth turned down. Teagan couldn’t tell if he frowned at her in anger or disappointment or if there was something else there.

But he didn't have time for that.

He shook his head slightly and said, "I think for now it would be best if Owen stayed at home, while Ser Cauthrien conducts her search for Edlyn and these men." He frowned and tugged at the sleeve of his shirt. "After we find her, we’ll talk again."

Oswin seemed to relax at that, looking to Teagan with a bit of relief, clapping his boy’s shoulder lightly. Teagan merely nodded. There was nothing to be done now, while Edlyn’s fate was still unknown. And he was sure that Owen owed his dad and Edlyn’s parents a great deal more explanation and recompense for his actions than Teagan could take with words.

"Men, you’re welcome to take your midday meal here, before heading home," Teagan said with a look at the three of them. He gestured a hand toward the door that led towards the dining hall and gave a nod over his shoulder at Raud to make sure they would be seen after.

Oswin shook his head, "Thank you my lord." Teagan watched his eyes flick to the door Cauthrien had left through before adding, "I think Owen and I will be heading back. Work to do."  

Teagan nodded. He didn’t want to join them for a meal, not now when Cauthrien would be packing up to leave for several days- their last days together.

"Raud can see you out, then." He turned to Gerald who also seemed ready to take his leave. "Mayor, if I could have a moment?"

Oswin turned, leading his son by the shoulder and Teagan caught a glimpse of Raud moving to see them out through the hall. Gerald nodded and took the few steps between them. The man grimaced as he approached and gave a glance towards the doors to the hall as they opened and then swung closed once more.

Teagan, keeping his head down and his voice low said, "Is there anything else? Anything about Owen that I need to know?"

"No. Not that I’m aware."

With a breath, Teagan nodded. "I would like you to make sure that someone is watching Owen. I believe him, but until Edlyn is found it would be for the best."

"Yes, my lord." Gerald frowned at the request, but hid it quickly. "Will that be all?"

"Yes. Thank you, Gerald."

Once Gerald turned to leave, Teagan retreated from the hall with a mind to find Cauthrien as she prepared to leave.

He took to the stairs first, to look in her room and his. She was in neither, and he immediately made for the practice yard. He had to catch up with her before she rode out of the keep. If he didn’t go with her, it would be days before he would see her again. He did not want to spend those days without her, not when there were few left.

She stood with three of his guard, laying out gear and provisions to pack into saddle bags and easily carried bundles. There was Hilde, a blonde woman whom Teagan had seen Cauthrien speaking to before; Jaron, one of Teagan's few knights; and Brynden, younger than the other two but with a good eye and quiet feet.

And there was Cauthrien.

She was quiet, focused on cinching her bags closed, and she didn't notice him as he approached.

"Cauthrien."

She didn't look up at first, pulling another strap tight before she straightened. "Bann Teagan," she said, but it was with a faint smile and obvious warmth - her balance between propriety and her feelings. "Have Oswin and his son- gone? Or do you have more information?"

"They’ve gone. Gerald will be keeping an eye on Owen until Edlyn can be found."

He pursed his lips as he looked at her, wondering how best to word it. Turning so that his back was to the three guards waiting for her orders, he gave her a more open smile. Better to say it and have it done.

"I would like to come with you."

She didn't respond at first, looking more confused than anything else. "If we find them," she said, finally, "it will be dangerous. And it will be a hard ride."

"I am aware." He crossed his arms over his chest, smile fading a little. He was capable enough to accompany the group, though her comments echoed some of his own concerns about leaving with them. He had others, too, about leaving Rainesfere for several days and the uncertainty about the supposed Fereldan men that had taken Edlyn.

"Still, there are few days left for us," he continued, his voice still barely more than a whisper. It wasn’t the only reason he wanted to go, but he wanted her to know it was on his mind.

She raised her hand as if to run a hand through her hair, a new habit since she had begun wearing it loose most of the time. It was pulled back now, however, and she simply ran her hand over the top of her head.

"I know," she said, finally. "I know. But this is work, this isn't... but you know that." She shook her head. "... Just be sure you're ready for this."

"I do. I am." He nodded.

The guards, the hard ride, looking for Edlyn, these things would not grant them much - if any - actual time together, not as they’d come to spend it. But it would be _with_ her, instead of at home worried about her or about what she and the guards would find.

"I’ll just need to make arrangements."

She smiled, and for a moment it was just pleased, hopeful, and relieved. But then it tightened with the worry that always seemed to catch up to her. He knew the creasing of her brow, the shuttering of her gaze. "Of course," she said. "Will you be ready before dusk?"

"I will be. Before, in fact if I send someone to get my horse ready while I manage things with Raud." He could almost see Raud’s frown forming already and he shook his head, hands dropping back to his sides.

He took a step away, turning as if to head back to the keep. After a hesitant breath he looked back at her.

"I’ll go get started now. Will we meet at the stables once everything is in order?"

"Yes." She offered him a small smile in return, before reaching down to grab up the saddle bags and her bundled armor. "And Maker willing, we'll find her before week's end."

With a small smile he echoed, "Maker willing."

Before going to find Raud, he stopped a young man who was cleaning armor, no doubt for one of the knights. He gave the boy a message to take to the stables to have his horse ready to ride and that he would be leaving before dusk. Once the boy was off, he could delay the meeting no longer.

Of course, he found Raud in his office, waiting with what looked like more work. Always more work. Teagan tried to smile as he walked towards the older man. And yet, before he even opened his mouth, Raud was arching an eyebrow and giving him a look of disdain. Teagan sighed.

"Whatever you have that requires my immediate attention we should get to now, Raud. I’ll be heading out with Ser Cauthrien on the search for Edlyn before the day is out."

Raud's expression darkened. "My lord, I shouldn't have to tell you what a poor decision that is."

Teagan gave Raud a stern look. He had hoped to avoid another discussion about Cauthrien. There were only so many days left with her, and Teagan planned to enjoy them, with or without Raud’s approval. Enjoying them meant being with her, and that couldn’t happen if she was riding away from Rainesfere.

"No, Raud, you do not," he replied coldly. "In fact, I’d rather you not say anything."

Raud shook his head. "Then I will have to disappoint you, my lord. I have kept my silence as best I've been able given the circumstances, but if you leave this keep, with _her_ , the rumors that Gerald has informed me have been circulating through town will be proven. There is no love for her there. The guard may respond well to her martial nature, but the farmers remember what she is, even if you do not.

"And if I may, your guard will do better without you accompanying them because your paramour rides with them."

Teagan sighed and stepped around to sit at his desk, avoiding Raud’s glare for a moment. "I have not forgotten who she is, or what she did to the land or the people of the bannorn, Raud." Once he was seated he looked back up at the older man. "Maybe their job would be easier without me. But if I had to stay here and wait for her, while the rest of this month dwindles away..." He swallowed and shook his head. "I don’t want that."

"Pardon me, my lord, but you're acting like a child." Raud's anger seemed to break, however, and he shook his head. "You could order her to remain here. Her job does not involve settling matters in this bannorn. But instead you would abandon your duties to chase after a single missing girl, in order to follow the dictates of your loins?" He sighed. "You know better than this. You've had lovers before. Do not let her distract you from your duties here, in this household, anymore than you already have."

Teagan shook his head. "I could, but her skills are useful there, looking for Edlyn. Our guards have been gone for weeks, and while she picked decent people to accompany her- our best have not yet returned."

He leaned against his desk, anger taking hold of him even as he fought not to show it. He refused to show it to Raud, who knew him well- but not well enough. Not enough to understand why this, why _Cauthrien_ , was different. He folded his arms together on the desk, gripping at his wrists.

"And it is not... _she_ is not the same. If this were any woman, do you honestly believe I would behave the same? If so, I do not think you know me as well as you think you do, Raud.

"As for your _concerns_ about the people of this bannorn, let us talk about how the people feel about her. If I let her and three young and perhaps less experienced guards go in search of Edlyn on their own, if they return and the girl is dead, or our guards _don’t_ return at all - after all, we don’t know what type of men have taken her - what do you think the people of Rainesfere are going to feel for her, for the guards, for Owen, then? And will they trust the report she brings back?"

Teagan swallowed, his mouth was dry from frustration, from holding back everything he would’ve liked to say. He took a breath and then gave Raud a hard look, a challenging one.

"... Perhaps you are right, about public opinion," Raud conceded, shaking his head again and running a hand through his hair. "But for a month's distraction, she is going to cause you far too much damage. I should have spoken up earlier - when you decided to stop hiding your relationship. It would have lessened the impact, at least."

Teagan calmed a little at Raud’s admission. "Perhaps she will, but as I reminded you weeks ago, it’s only a month."

He nearly smiled at the thought of how pleased he had been after that discussion, when it seemed he wouldn’t have to listen to Raud’s concerns again. Then, he hadn’t been as sure as he was now, how worth it she was- even if it was only a month. Now, he'd fight forever if that was what it took.

Quietly, he added, "I don’t know that anyone else would have me taking this risk willingly."

It was a great admission, more than he had said to anybody, let alone Raud. Perhaps the impact of his relationship with Cauthrien on Rainesfere would be greater than he suspected- would be as Cauthrien herself feared. But it was a risk he was taking.

"As long as it is only a month, my lord." Raud regarded him skeptically for a moment more, then exhaled a deep breath and stepped forward to point out the matters that needed to be addressed as soon as possible.

Teagan did his best to listen after that, though it took a while for him to calm down completely and to stop feeling as though he had to defend every one of his statements. But it was only Raud, and eventually the rest of the work passed quickly enough. When he was done, he thanked his seneschal for seeing to the rest of the items and took his leave of the office.

Quickly as he could, he put together the things he would need to take with him on the road, remembering that he needed to also bundle his armor and weapons- things he had found he thought about less often during Cauthrien’s stay with him. It didn’t take him long and finally, he could make his way to meet with Cauthrien at the stables.

The horses were already saddled, armor, provisions, and weapons already strapped down. When Cauthrien saw Teagan approaching, she turned momentarily to tell the others to mount up and move out of the keep. That done, she left Calenhad's side for a moment to go help him with his horse.

"You're still sure about this?" she asked.

"More sure now than I was before," he said with a smile. "Otherwise, I’d have to face Raud again, and he’d say ‘I told you so’ and I just can’t have that." He laughed, but there was an edge to it, frustration and annoyance in his words. Carefully, he started securing his things in place for the trip. "If this is the way we have to spend out the month, then so be it. Rainesfere will make it without me for a few days, Raud will see to that."

"Raud objected then, I take it?"

"And then some," he admitted with a shrug.

She worked side by side with him, her shoulder bumping his on occasion. "I'll admit, I've been waiting for him to say something, with what some of the guard have told me." She cinched another strap and then stroked the horse's flank, looking at Teagan. "It wasn't too bad, I hope?"

Reaching over, he covered her hand with his. "He relented eventually."

He didn’t want to explain the extent of it to her, that it was less about his time away and more about who the time would be with. Raud didn’t understand, or agree, and Teagan didn’t think she needed to know much more than that. She had been worried enough about what people thought of the two of them.

"I think we’ll all be happy enough once we’ve returned, and Maker willing, it’ll be with Edlyn."

"I hope you're right," she said, without the distrustful edge that may have accompanied such words just a week before. With his horse saddled and packed, she reluctantly stepped back. "We're going to ride as far as we can follow the road tonight, to get us in the right area."

He nodded. "Best we get going then."

With a sigh he grabbed at the saddle, ready to pull himself up onto his horse. He gave her a soft smile, though little about this trip made him happy. There was only the thought that if it was necessary, they would at least be together.

**\--**

They rode until long after the moon had risen bright and high, following the road from Rainesfere towards the south. It wasn't one of the paved Imperial roads that still crossed the country, instead a wide path that slowly became less visible. A river ran nearby, and she kept an eye out for any sign of a lake, though she knew it would still be a day or more away.

When it became hard to follow in the dark and she could tell that at least Jaron was flagging, she called for a halt. They dismounted, unsaddling and hitching the horses in relative quiet. Her mind buzzed from the serious silence of the ride. There had been jokes at first, attempts to break the heavy weight of duty, but that had died soon after setting out.

She was crouched by her pack when she heard Teagan's murmur of, "Cauthrien." Looking up, she found him grinning, though it looked odd in the moonlight, pale teeth in the shadows. "I came to ask after your plans for... sleeping arrangements."

"Sleeping arrangements," she repeated, her hands stilling where they sought the canvas cover of her tent. "I'll assume that means you have a request?"

Quiet conversations were beginning to spring up once more, now that the horses were taken care of. Cauthrien called out an order over her shoulder for Hilde to get a fire going and for Jaron to sit himself down for a minute and have some water, then looked back to Teagan.

"I thought..." Teagan shifted. "I thought we might share. If you'd like."

"We can do that," she said, lips twitching into a faint smile. She glanced back at the others for a moment, then to him with a shrug. "But I'll have watch part of the night. Jaron's too exhausted to take it. You can't convince me to stay in bed with you this time."

That night those weeks ago were fresh in her memory, him coaxing her back into bed and her letting him. She hadn't tried to leave his bed in the middle of the night since, but even in the mornings he was loathe to let her leave; it meant the start of another day, and end to the night before.

"I think I can agree to those terms," he said with a hint of his previous grin. He relaxed visibly, shoulders dropping. "Though, I cannot be held completely responsible for what I do when I’m mostly asleep. I might still try and convince you to stay."

"And I can't be held responsible if I use a pry bar to dislodge you," she returned with a low laugh. She turned back to undoing the pack, unbundling the tent poles. His answering chuckle was surprisingly loud, and she prodded his ankle with one of them.

"Can you put one of these up?"

Her tent was nothing like the massive tents of Cailan or Loghain at Ostagar, or any of the meeting tents of the nobility and generals. The one she had stayed in at Ostagar had been larger and more complex than this one, too; this would barely have room for the both of them, but she had a feeling they would manage.

Teagan nodded, laughter dying away. "I can and I will."

He took a few steps back and looked around. "Where do you want to set it?"

She followed him with the roll of oiled canvas of the groundcloth beneath one arm. There was moonlight enough, and the slow flaring of fire from behind them, that she could check the ground for roots and rocks, and when she found a suitable location, she crouched and rolled out the cloth. "Here," she said. "We'll put it up over this spot."

With a nod, he moved to a corner, staking the pole into the ground.

For all her serious attention, she was smiling when she rose again, wiping her hands idly on her thighs. They were on Edlyn's trail, yes - but she had learned long ago that when a rest on the road offered itself, it was best to let it take her for as long as it could. The stress, otherwise, could become dangerous - deadly, even.

"When will you take your watch?" he asked, lightly - as if it were only a question of logistics. But she knew him well enough to hear the other question. _How much time do we have_?

Still, he had asked about the watch, and he would find his own answers to the other. "Second," she said without hesitation. It was the most unpleasant, the most awkward, but she was almost certainly the best rested out of any of them, and she was leading the team. "So I may wake you up a few times during the night, but I'll return."

"Of course," he replied, and she glanced up, expecting to see him roll his eyes. He didn't, but he did shake his head a little.

The fire behind them danced more brightly and there was a roll of laughter. Cauthrien smiled at it as she helped Teagan put up the structure of their tent. "How soon will you be retiring?"

"Whenever you like."

"Go get some food, then. I'll get our bedrolls set up and our packs put away." She would join them when she was done, but the methodical nature of stretching the canvas over the tent polls and setting out her bedroll would do much to help her stay rooted in the moment.

She would relax, yes, but she wouldn't lose sight of their goal. Teagan was far too distracting in long doses.

"I’ll grab something for the both of us then."

He left, and she could hear a surge of renewed conversation, greetings and tentative jokes. She smiled at it; the group was small and so it was hard to be as anything other than equals, if equals who followed an external set of order. To hear him interact so easily with the others - it was a reminder, as if she needed more, of how different he was than she had expected. Of how she thought about nobility.

It took another ten minutes for her to get the tent up, the cover stretched tight and their bedrolls set inside. It took another five to string up their packs that contained food a fair distance away, in case of night-time visitors. It was only then that she rejoined the group, now joking amiably around the fire, most having eaten their fill.

As she sat down beside Teagan - not on the rock he occupied, but with her back against it, elbow propped behind her just beside his thigh - she smiled at the roll of laughter and nodded, before holding up a hand.

"Hilde, you'll be taking first watch. I'm taking second. Bryden, you'll take third."

"And me, Ser?" Jaron asked, his hands pressed to his knees in hidden embarrassment and nerves.

"You'll sleep tonight and take second watch tomorrow," Cauthrien said, as if it were just rotation and not an allowance for his struggling to stay upright in a saddle.

That settled, she let the conversation begin to flow around her again, looking back to Teagan. There was a portion of food balanced on his knee, and she reached for it. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome," he turned and gave a brief smile. After a moment he asked, "And what of me, Ser Cauthrien? Would you also have me take a watch tomorrow night?" his voice low to avoid carrying over the fire.

"If you'll have it," she said, swallowing down a bit of food and quirking a brow. "There's no reason I shouldn't put you to work." He was riding with them, after all. It was not her place to order him... but suggest? Oh, yes. "Though it may," she added, "be difficult to rouse you. First watch, then."

"Happy to have it," he said with a nod. "Seems fair that if I put myself into the search, I should help with the work." With a small chuckle he added, "Though, first is a wise choice, you know how I sleep.

"And do _you_ plan to take a watch every night?"

There were, counting Teagan, five to split the watch between. It wasn't necessary for her to take it. But a part of her worried that she had grown soft, sleeping in Teagan's bed, resting instead of working - and another part, a quieter part, questioned if it wouldn't be best to rest, given what her body threatened.

That part she shoved away, because her fears remained foolish and unfounded. The passing of a week with bleeding was no proof.  
.  
"Probably." She took another bite of food, swallowing it down fast. It was coarse and largely tasteless, but the best they could prepare on short notice that would last them much of the ride. Hilde, she knew, had set out a trap or two; whether they were occupied in the morning was left to the Maker.

"Most nights, at least," she amended with a shrug.

"As long as it’s not all of them," Teagan conceded.

After a few more bites, he had finished his dinner. He took a breath and then pushed off of the rock to stand, looking down at Cauthrien and then towards the fire.

She glanced up to him as he stretched and worked out the aches and kinks from a day's ride, and she finished off the last of her food. She was more efficient than he, and it disappeared in a few large bites, hard swallows. Cauthrien wasn't quite sure why it was so important to her - but she didn't want to linger. Silly, that she'd want to walk with him, but perhaps it was because she'd grown so used to not hiding.

And lingering to follow later seemed like hiding.

She rose and quirked a brow, then moved without any more hesitation towards their tent after bidding goodnight to the other guard. Teagan followed her a moment later. As he matched his steps to hers, he bumped his shoulder lightly against her. He was smiling and slowly he slid a hand into hers, twining their fingers.

"It’s different like this," he said. "Seeing you in charge, leading a group."

"Different?" She curled her fingers around his as they walked, the sounds of quiet speech falling away behind them along with the brightness of the fire. "... Does it make you uncomfortable?" She remembered the sparring still too vividly, how he had panicked and struggled to overcome her.

She hoped it wouldn't be the same here, and she paused just outside the tent to look at him.

He nodded. "Different. I- Some, I think." He squeezed her hand and shrugged. "It’s not... all like that. And there are times I enjoy you taking charge."

She laughed as she toed off her boots and bent to tug off her woolen socks. It was a small laugh, but it was there and she had learned, from him, to encourage it. It made the slight twinge of embarrassment easier to deal with.

With her boots shucked, she straightened up. Her arming jacket would be her pillow for the night, so she only slowly undid the toggles.

"Well. With time, perhaps it will ease. I hope it will," she said.

He shrugged with the smallest smile on his lips. "I don’t mean to feel that way." Sitting, he slid his boots off and worked at the cuffs on his sleeves, then the toggles on his own jacket. "I hope it’s alright that I told you."

"It's fine. I like to know what's bothering you." It was what had kept the last few weeks idyllic. There had been fewer crises - none, in fact - but they had also stopped staying silent about their worries.

For the most part, anyway.

"And like I said, perhaps in time-"

Cauthrien stopped, lips parted and eyes wide. She blinked. _In time_. Maker, _in time_. In a week? And for what?

She frowned. No, she wouldn't think that way. Ducking her head, she slipped into the tent and knelt on her bedroll, slipping off her padded jacket and folding it into a bundle to rest her head on. "... Perhaps in time it will get easier," she finished, quietly.

"Yes, in time," he echoed with a small smile as he followed her. He finished his preparations for sleep and moved onto his bedroll, sitting with his legs crossed in front of him. "There have been occasions when I've enjoyed it quite a bit, you know." Teagan chuckled. And then slowly, he reached out for her hands. "And I hope that you're right," he whispered as he held her hands in his.

She looked down, swallowing thickly. "I hope so, as well," she repeated, and then squeezed his hands and shifted close enough to lean against him. "Given weeks- or a few months- or... well. Her Majesty willing, I suppose."

"Of course. Time," he said, his voice only a whisper, an echo.

"If," she said, then hesitated. She took a breath, pulling him down to their bedrolls. "If Rainesfere - not just the keep - is okay with it, I can put it before her?" Her voice trembled as she voiced it. "Beyond just informing her."

He laid there a moment, holding her hand in one of his, his other arm sliding down her back, holding her against him. He inhaled slowly. "Would you? If she's wise, she would agree- it would be of benefit to her, especially if she still considers me worth investigating after your letters."

Cauthrien said nothing because she could promise nothing. She might ask. But she might also turn away from it once they were apart, and she didn't want to promise something she could not uphold. All she could do was promise _herself_ that she would try, and offer the possibility.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Let us find Edlyn first and return to Rainesfere for whatever time is left." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

 _Time._

**\---**

He fell asleep with thoughts of Cauthrien, of time, in his mind. He slept soundly and in the morning, though he was sore from the previous day's ride, he was up early and ready enough to keep forward, towards the hopeful rescue of Edlyn. The ride was like the one the day before it, and the one the day after. He took watches when Cauthrien gave them, and their third night out, she stayed with him throughout the night. When he woke on their third morning away, it was with his legs wrapped with hers, hands clasped between them.

"Good morning," he whispered and leaned in to kiss her neck, her cheek, her lips. Her head was tucked just below his chin, her body curled against him, but she unfurled as he kissed her awake.

"Mm," she hummed, searching for his lips as she opened her eyes. "Good morning," she murmured as she sat up and began to move, pushing their shared blanket down and turning over onto her knees.

He rolled onto his back as she got up, watching as she moved to put herself together for the day.

A moment later he sat up, following her from the tent and reaching for his boots. Once he was up onto his feet, he stepped behind her, an arm reaching around to catch her waist. "I know we have work to do," he said. "But I wanted to say a proper good morning to you."

Their time was dwindling quickly and they had yet to find Edlyn. The tracks they'd found the day before promised at a chance to return home, but it wouldn't be enough time. He calmed those thoughts by taking whatever time he could, as it presented itself. Brushing her hair aside, he grinned and kissed her neck. He pulled away quickly after the kiss, knowing she wouldn't stay close for too long, and that she would be focused already on the day ahead.

Her hand stilled where she had been about to loose the rope holding their tent canvas taut, then let go, leaning back against him before he could retreat too far. She turned and touched his jaw, stilling him while she leaned in for another kiss.

"Good morning," she said with a small smile, and then left him to take down their camp.

All in all, it took just under an hour for the team to eat and the horses to be saddled and packed.Nobody was on watch when it happened.

Five men on horseback, in furs and leathers and patched woolens, cobbled armor and old weapons, came from the woods with a shout. Cauthrien swore and barked orders, the center of a growing maelstrom. Only Jaron was in any form of armor beyond padding, soft leather that would provide no protection against the maces that two of them wielded. Hilde and Brynden lunged for weapons, and Teagan for his horse. He had been about to mount, but the spike of fear nearly paralyzed him. He only managed to pull his blade, but there was no time for armor, no time even to swing up bareback onto his steed.

Cauthrien pulled her sword from where it was strapped to Calenhad's flank and slapped his rump, sending him out of the clearing that had become their battlefield. Their only blessing was that the clearing was too small for full sweeping passes of the horsemen, four dismounting.

The bandits rushed them and Teagan quickened his steps, intending to take a place between Cauthrien and Brynden to stand against them. But as he approached the others, the last of the bandits still on horseback rode towards him, sword extended and Teagan could not move quickly enough to avoid the blade hitting the shoulder of his sword arm. He rocked back on his heels with the impact, sword dropping from his hand.

Jaron shouted something, striking out at the horse as the bandit rode through the clearing. Teagan moved for his sword, head swimming from the pain in his arm. It flared sharper still as he bent down, making him gasp and nearly stumble. He retrieved his sword with his other hand, grunting at the weight on the wrong arm. Blinking hard to keep his mind focused on the fight instead of the agony, he stepped back to keep himself between Cauthrien and the guards, gripping his sword as best he could.

Cauthrien kicked the horseman she was engaged with in the stomach and, with a sharp downswing, took his head from his shoulders. She moved closer to Teagan as Jaron dragged the horseman down, as Hilde ran another bandit through the chest. They were down to three adversaries, one of them gravely injured, the other two circling warily, glancing towards the forest from which they had come.

"Stand down!" she called out. "Stand down to Rainesfere!"

The one closest to her charged.

Teagan kept his sword up, even if he held it awkwardly in an arm that was more used to carrying a shield. That knowledge at least served him as he held his blade out against one of the remaining bandits that came at him as Cauthrien blocked the other charge. It was only good enough to push the man's arm away, enough to unbalance him while Hilde slipped between them and struck a final blow.

He tried to shout at the remaining man, but he stumbled and all that came out was a garbled sound too thick for his throat. He let his sword drop, pressing it into the dirt to lean against as the others stepped towards the last man. The bandit turned and ran for the nearest horse. While his company pursued the man, he slowly moved away from the others either dead or nearly so on the ground around him. He took his blade with him and let his other arm hang as his shoulder bled, a growing stain on his jacket.

Brynden gutted the last bandit and Cauthrien barked out orders to search the men for any sign of where they had come from. He watched, hopeful even through his haze. _Men on horseback_ had taken Edlyn, and while there was no real reason to assume _these_ were the same riders-

But it was nearly impossible to think through the blinding pain, and so he could only watch. He sank to his knees and braced his weight on his good arm, panting and _hoping_ and cursing himself for how slow he had been, how unprepared, how-

Cauthrien was at his side, setting down her sword and reaching for him. "Stop. Stop moving," she said, voice ragged and hoarse and cracked. He thought he could see fear in her eyes. He opened his mouth to say something - _thank you_ or _yes, ser_ or any number of things, but then there was swearing from across the field.

"Commander!" Hilde shouted.

Cauthrien gave him a tight smile and they both looked over.

Hilde was holding up a girl's dress and smalls, streaked with dirt and blood.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edlyn is found. The return to Rainsfere is accompanied by duty and regret - as is the final leaving of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Dark. Violence and abduction. Referenced sexual assault.  
> Chapter Rating: T
> 
> Thank you all so much for coming this far with us. We had a great time writing War, and we hope you enjoyed reading!

They followed the horsemen's trail for half a day, picking into the forest and away from the road, from the river. Cauthrien kept Teagan braced against her chest and in her saddle as they rode, her eyes straying again and again to the makeshift bandage tied quickly around his shoulder. He was still bleeding, weak and barely conscious, and he didn't complain once about the discomfort of sitting in a saddle made for one.

She would have stopped to attend to his wound immediately, but he had told her _no, get Edlyn_.

The trail eventually took them to an empty clearing, a stream not a hundred paces away. There were the remains of a fire pit, a small midden speaking to long days of occupation, crushed grass where tents had been.

And there was a pile of earth, dark and bare, mounded up in one corner of the field.

"No," Hilde whispered, and Brynden turned away. It was Jaron, who had led them along the horsemen's tracks, who dismounted first. They had no shovels, only small trowels, but he forced them into Hilde's and Brynden's hands and went to dig up the disturbed earth.

Cauthrien looked after them, then pressed a kiss to the back of Teagan's head, sliding out of the saddle. She helped bring him down after her, walking him a few feet away and easing him to the ground. Smiling tightly, she went to pull her field kit down from her horse. A steel needle, oiled twine - she could do this.

Her kit set aside, she tried to laugh and smile and joke, if only to keep him awake, if only to keep him from noticing what they had found. "A story to tell Raud," she murmured, as she settled his weight against her. It would be harder to work, but she didn't want him to fall.

"Yes," he muttered, voice thin and weak, and then he smiled. As she pressed the needle and twine to his shoulder, he closed his eyes, though the lids fluttered at every prick. His lips moved and contorted, his brow furrowed, and once she thought he said her name. But then he sagged heavy and limp against her and his face softened. He slept.

The stitches made, poultice smoothed over the wound, and bandages wrapped tight around his arm, she sat back and looked at him. She hoped it was only from the strain; the injury had not seemed so severe, or she would have attended it before they followed the trail. Nerves churned in her stomach, and a small shout came from where the guards worked at digging.

Carefully, she shrugged out of her arming jacket and wrapped it into a bundle, settling it beneath his head as she laid him on the ground. She was just rising to her feet when Hilde called, breathless,

"We've found her."

Cauthrien didn't move, staring down at Teagan for a long moment.

She then turned, striding over to the others. They had uncovered the barest tip of a nose, the curve of a full cheek, the swell of a shoulder. She crouched with them and used her hands to help move the last of the earth.

 _Edlyn_.

Her hair was pale brown and though not braided, it was long enough to be worn so, with kinks and curls to it that spoke of regular plaiting. She was young - _too young_ \- and she matched every detail the family had given them.

And she was dead.

She was dead and buried in the ground without so much as a scrap of clothing. There were bruises on her skin, dried blood, and Cauthrien finally ordered the others away.

"Build a pyre," she said.

"The chantry-"

"We cannot take her home like his. Her family should not see it."

Nobody responded, and for a moment, nobody moved. And then Brynden gave an order and the other two followed, and life began to crawl once more.

Cauthrien wrapped Edlyn's body in a blanket. She plaited a lock of hair on the girl's head, then cut it, knotted it, and placed it into a small pouch to deliver to the family. She took another plait for Owen after a moment's thought. She whispered the few words of the Chant that she knew, and then she went to help build the pyre.

  
**\--**   


When he woke, he felt stiff and sore and there was a throbbing pain in his shoulder. He shifted, feeling the ground beneath him. It took a moment to recall where he was and why he hurt but as he did, he tried to sit up. Difficult as it was and not wanting to put pressure on his arm, he managed to roll to his other side, fold his legs and use his other arm to push up to a seated position.

He saw the fire first, and called out for Cauthrien.

She turned at the sound of his voice, looking utterly exhausted and lit only by the flickering flames. She left the guards to go to his side and crouched down beside him, murmuring only,

"Edlyn is dead."

He swallowed, throat dry. His stomach churned and nearly revolted, soured and roiling as he inhaled the smoke of the pyre. He turned his head away from it. His head bowed. " _Maker_..."

They had both known that with all the time that had passed, it wasn't likely they would find her alive. But they had hoped so fervently to be wrong, to find her and to be able to return her home. He closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer for Edlyn and her family. It was the only thing he could do, and he clung to it.

It was several moments before he looked back at Cauthrien.

"The fire?" He knew it already, knew the smell of burnt hair on the wind, but he had to hear it from her.

Cauthrien obliged, looking over to the now-dying flames. "Funeral pyre. The state she was in... her family shouldn't have seen her like that. It is better this way."

He swallowed again and nodded. It would be harder to explain why they had returned without a body, but he trusted her.

She settled down onto the ground and put a hand lightly on his uninjured shoulder. "I took plaits of her hair to give to her family. They will have... something to remember her by. Or to offer at a proper funeral."

"That was thoughtful. Some day, I’m sure they will be thankful to have something - to have done something." He fell silent, another prayer forming in his mind. He looked into the fire as he leaned into her touch, and watched it burn down to embers.

"Too late to start back, I take it?" he asked, voice hoarse and heart weary.

She took a deep breath, then let it out in a half-sigh. "We could go, but everybody is exhausted. And how is your arm? Are you-" Her words trailed off and she reached up to touch his jaw again, thumbing his cheek. "I was afraid."

"It's been better." With a sigh, he leaned his head against her hand. "I'm sorry - if I had been faster, I could have avoided him altogether." He tried not to think about the fact that if he had been any slower, the strike would've caught him in the chest instead of the shoulder.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, then rested her cheek against the crown of his head.

"And if I had been faster, I would have been between the two of you. As it is, though- when you passed out, I was afraid we had rushed too much for nothing. If we had found Edlyn but somehow lost you-"

"But you didn't." He closed his eyes again.

When he spoke again, it was with the measured, forced calm he'd learned to use from a young age. "Was there anything left by the men here?" They could only make assumptions on why the bandits had taken her. Without them to ask and Edlyn dead, there was no way to know for certain. Teagan frowned. They were too far away now to even search the bandits' horses.

Cauthrien shook her head, the barest movement against his. "No. There was just a grave. But given the state of the body and the trophies they took, I... can't find it in me to doubt what happened." She sighed and he couldn't help the frown, couldn't help turning away from her.

"We'll ride out tomorrow," she murmured. "Without anything to track, we might make it in a day and a half. We can move as quickly as you like - or are able."

"Ah," he lifted his hand and laid it on her leg. "I'm sorry."

He fell quiet again, resting against her and fighting the sleep that still tugged at him. From somewhere in the near distance he could hear the others preparing their camp for the night, and he turned his head to watch them in the growing dark. They had built their camp on the far side of the clearing, and he saw the flare of the campfire being lit. Hilde was helping Jaron set up the tents, while Brynden took cooking duties. His stomach rumbled though he didn't feel much like eating.

"I should be able to ride in the morning... with enough rest," he said at last, lifting his head and looking to her.

"Then you will have all the night to rest," she assured him, shifting to better settle him against her. "Try to wiggle your fingers? Do you have feeling everywhere?"

He glanced down; a thought and his fingers wiggled easily. A knot he hadn't realized had settled in his chest loosened, and he nodded with a faint smile. There was pain there but to move his fingers did not take so much effort.

"Seems so."

"Good. It didn't seem too bad, but I was still worried." Her returned smile was also weak. "We should get you closer to the fire," she added. "Do you think you could stand and walk a little?"

"Won’t know until I try.” He took a few deep breaths in preparation and pulled himself away from her, though he felt warm enough and was content to stay as they were.

He moved his hand from her leg, setting it on the ground to push against as he folded his legs. There were several twinges of pain from his shoulder as he moved, though none of them were so long or painful enough to stop him. As he rocked forward he gave Cauthrien a sidelong glance and frowned.

"I may need a little help,” he admitted.

"I'm here," she said, and slipped an arm around him once more to help him up. He grimaced even as she took his weight on her shoulder, guiding him a few short steps towards the fire. "Let me know if you need to rest or if I'm slow enough that you're going mad from it."

"I think,” he said, "if the camp were any farther away, I _would_ go mad.” It was mostly fatigue that made him waver, and the seemingly endless stretch of earth taunted him. The smell of the food Brynden prepared turned his stomach and he looked for a spot to sit away from the food, tugging on Cauthrien’s arm as he leaned towards a place.

She helped him take a seat, crouching down beside him. "What do you think you can keep down?" she asked. "You should eat something - it's been nearly a whole day." There was still worry, etched alongside the exhaustion on her brow, and if he had felt stronger, he would have tried to smooth it away.

Instead, he could only shake his head, his braid falling free. "Not much.” He shrugged, then winced at the pain in his shoulder. "Perhaps a bit of bread? Some water if we have it.”

"We do." She smiled and touched his uninjured arm, then stood up. Turning from him and striding towards the fire, she called out a question about the watch that night to Hilde. She spent a moment there, talking with the others, before returning to his side. Sitting down beside him, she offered a small piece of the soft interior of a loaf and a water skin. "I'll be with you all night," she said. "Playing nurse."

He smiled at that. Taking the food she offered with his good hand, he said, "I don’t know how good of company I’m likely to be.”

After a few nibbles of the bread, waiting to see if his stomach protested at all, he set the bread on his knee and reached for the water. He took a few small sips and then handed it back to her. It seemed to settle, if resting heavy in his belly, and he reached for the bread again.

"Though it does sound nice,” he murmured as he finished it off and took the water back..

She laughed, rubbing at the small of his back in small circles. "A little more time spent together," she agreed. "I wouldn't want to leave you alone after today."

He slid his hand to her leg, squeezing her knee. There was a bit of melancholy in that thought. It was a blessing to spend a little more time with Cauthrien, but he hadn't wanted it to be because of an injury, and even less because of what had happened to Edlyn. And now there was so little time. There would be almost none left when they reached home, not much more than it took for her to rest and pack and set back on the road to Denerim.

He frowned as he leaned against her, sinking into the pressure of her hand against his back and closing his eyes. He murmured a quiet _thank you_ against her shoulder.

 _A little more time_.

Cauthrien shifted against him, then leaned in and brushed her lips against his. "Do you want to go to the tent? Hilde has it set up," she murmured as she pulled away only by degrees. When he opened his eyes again, she was watching him with a small smile.

He wanted a lot of things in that moment: a little more strength to move on his own, a little less pain in his shoulder, _a little more time_. A lot more time. A chance to have been able to rescue Edlyn. He could never have those things, not now.

But they had _some_ time to enjoy, even mixed with sadness as it was.

"I do," he said with a nod.

Pulling away from her hand, he leaned in to return her kiss with one of his own. He rocked forward, preparing to stand, and used his good arm to push himself up. There was an ache in his shoulder, a tingling through his upper arm as if to remind him it was still there and he grunted quietly as he moved.

She was there, helping him up and bracing him against her side. The walk to the tent was stumbling and too-long, but she bid goodnight to the others and helped him into the shade of it.

Their bedrolls were already laid out; the others knew, of course, that they shared a tent and didn't bother pretending it wasn't true. He knew that it had embarrassed her before. But now she moved without self-consciousness, helped him down, moved to tug off his boots with just a smile and a shake of her head.

"Tell me if I hurt you."

He hissed once as he tried to put weight on his arm once he was on the bedroll. His head bowed as he cradled his hand in his lap, he watched her work to remove his boots. Part of him wanted to laugh at her words. She was treating him gently, tenderly and it was a part of her that he hadn't seen since she had struck him on that field. It was hard to feel light-hearted with everything that had happened, but if he watched her, focused on her, he could try.

He wiggled his toes a little as she freed them from his boots and gave her a broader smile.

"I have no complaints thus far."

"Good," she said, and quickly unlaced and removed her own shoes, then set about turning their few blankets into a more comfortable bed for him. That done, she moved to him. She began to undo the toggles of his doublet. It had been slashed open and she had bandaged him through the gap. Now she tugged at the pieces of fabric caught in the wrap.

"I'm going to check on the wound, alright?" she asked as she moved to slide the fabric from his shoulders.

He nodded and braced himself for her touch, closing his eyes, relaxing. As she eased it from his shoulders, there were a few sharp pangs and he forced himself not to shy away. It grew worse as she unwound the blood-stuck bandages. When she pulled her field dressings wholly away, he opened his eyes and looked at it as best he could from his angle. It was messy, and he couldn't see how deep it went, but it was going to leave a decent scar across his shoulder and chest.

His mouth felt dry as he thought about the strike, saw the rider coming at him once more. After the memory faded, he looked at Cauthrien. He swallowed and said, "If only I'd been just a little faster..." With a glance back at his shoulder he added, "How does it look?"

"Better than it did an hour ago," she assured him, reaching into her pack for fresh poultice and bandages. They'd brought it all for Edlyn, but he ignored that as she set about wiping down the wound and redressing it. "It will scar, though. You're lucky they didn't catch the muscle truly. You might have been down a sword arm, unless you could get a healer soon. As it is, though, I think you'll be okay."

He nodded. "Glad to hear it."

He quieted as he watched her clean what she could with the supplies they had. He held still, even when it stung or instinct told him to pull away. His lips pressed together, white, as he pulled them between his teeth while she wrapped a new bandage around his arm.

Bandage in place, he reached his other hand across to feel at the coarse fabric. "I'll need a good story about it when it scars," he said and followed it with a shaky smile. His hand moved from his shoulder to cover one of her hands before she pulled away.

"Thank you."

"You were fighting wicked bandits on the road," she offered, her own expression, tense and brittle, easing to a smile. "And you triumphed, saving the lives of you and your companions. If you need more, though, I'm sure we could work in a dragon somehow." Her lips quirked in a silent laugh as she leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

He started to close the distance between them, aching to return her kiss, when his shoulder reminded him with a spike of pain of why that was a poor idea. Shifting back, he put his hand around her waist instead.

"A dragon," he mused, resting his forehead against hers for a moment. Chuckling, he added, "No need for that. The bandits were plenty for me, I think."

As tired as he felt, resting against Cauthrien felt better, and he hummed softly as he kissed her again. The angle and distance was kinder to him and there was no pain in the motion.

When he pulled away, she tilted her chin up to brush her nose against his. "I will tell tales of your triumph," she assured as she began to lower the both of them to the ground, pillowing his body against hers and tangling their legs together. "We did as well as we were able. Nothing more can be asked of us."                                                                                                  

It was a reassuring thought and Teagan hoped it was one they could both keep in mind when they rode back to Rainesfere in the morning to deliver the news. Her warmth soothed his worries, and he curled against her. He turned in place as much as he was able, keeping his injured shoulder off the ground. There was only a moment of pain as he found a more comfortable way to balance his arm at his side. He dipped his head into the curve of her shoulder, and kissed her neck down to the collar of her jacket.

She laughed, running her fingers through his hair and pushing his mussed braid behind his ear. "Insatiable," she murmured. "Injured, and at the end of a long day, and you still want to...?" Her tone was fond, though, and as he chuckled, she tilted her head back.

"For you," he whispered, lips just a breath away from her skin. "Always."

Even as he said it, though, he knew he didn't have the strength for anything more than a few kisses. He felt weary from head to toe, even without the throbbing in his shoulder. He laid his head against her shoulder and let out a strained but pleased sigh.

Cauthrien smoothed down his hair and shifted so that her arm was around him. She said nothing, but settled them both more comfortably. With her free arm, she fished for a blanket, then pulled it up to their waists.

"You should sleep."

He nodded and murmured his assent. He wanted nothing more than her warmth and release from the constant press of memories of just how close the horseman's blade had come to ending his life. Comfortable and warm and safe against Cauthrien, he could feel himself sinking already. His only regret that closing his eyes would mean an end to the day. They had so little time left and as he started to drift off, he couldn't help but think of what waking up was going to mean - going home, him to Rainesfere and her soon after to Denerim.

It wasn't going to be enough.

He tilted his chin up and pressed his lips to her neck, soft as an afterthought. "Thank you," he whispered as he tucked himself against her. There were words on his lips, eager for exit. "Cauthrien... "

He drifted off only for a moment before a memory and the ache in his shoulder woke him. But she was there. It was dark and quiet and still he meant to tell her something.

"Cauthrien... "

It was barely even a whisper, a breath and the sleepy movement of his lips against her throat.

 _I love you_.

  
**\--**   


The ride was both too long and far too short.

She insisted Teagan ride in front of her, even if it meant unsaddling her horse and riding bare so that the saddle horn wouldn't hurt him. She braced him with her legs and murmured little jokes to him about that first ride back, how she'd suggested trussing him up and draping him across Calenhad's back. She grinned, and she took the ride for what it was: One of the few days they had left together.

The others averted their eyes or rode ahead to speak to one another in peace. They joked, too, though it was thin even under the high noon sun; Edlyn's death hung like a pall over everybody. Cauthrien shouldered through it out of necessity.

It had been nearly a month, and there were certainly changes to the landscape as they road into the village. The farms they passed were in full growth and activity, roofs patched more firmly, singe marks erased by greens and golds. The town was alive. There were still fragments of her destruction, burned out homes, fields trampled by armies.

But it was recovering. She took it to heart as best she could.

  
**\--**   


It was near dark when they reached Rainesfere. They left Brynden and the others to return to the estate with news of the journey, then veered to the fields to the south of the town. Though Teagan's heart was heavy with the thought of delivering to Edlyn’s parents, the news should not have been delayed or sent in a letter or on the lips of a courier. He ached from riding so long, and as Cauthrien helped him down from Calenhad, he had to stand still a moment to let his muscles relax before he took her hand in his. He knew enough not to keep hold of her as they strode towards the house and gave her a weak and lopsided smile instead.

Edlyn's mother and father greeted them at the door, the optimism on their faces falling when they saw that Edlyn did not stand with them. The house seemed ill-kept in comparison to his last visit, as though activity had ceased in the days since he and Cauthrien had left in search of the girl.  

Cauthrien looked to Teagan for only a moment, a question of _should you? Should I_? creasing her brow. And then she stepped forward and lowered herself down to one knee, bowing her head.

"I am sorry."

Her expression grew shuttered as the father turned away with a pained noise and the mother closed her eyes and stilled.

When Cauthrien spoke again, it was in the same low, controlled voice, even and solemn. Her words hung heavy with the weight of it, but she did not falter. "We cremated her yesterday evening; her soul has gone to the Maker's side."

Teagan took a weary step to Cauthrien’s side, unsure where exactly to look with both of Edlyn’s parents lost in their own grief. He chose the middle-distance between them to focus on and tried not to let the sadness in the room overtake him. He waited.

Edlyn’s mother seemed to recover first, her eyes opening and searching both Cauthrien’s and Teagan’s expressions before turning toward her husband and wrapping her hands around his arm.

Quietly and with a look down to Cauthrien first, he said, "We pray the Maker brings you peace.” He leaned just enough to the side that his fingers could just lightly touch Cauthrien’s shoulder, taking the only comfort he could find and offering it in turn back to her.

Cauthrien didn't look up, glancing down to the pouch at her hip instead. She pulled one of the braided locks of Edlyn's hair from it and rose to her feet, offering it to the mother.

"Here," she said, voice softening, "We couldn't bring her home, but we could do this much."

The woman had accepted the braid, with a whispered _thank you_ and a quiet, choked sob as she curled her fingers around it. Edlyn’s father wrapped his arm around his wife, nodding silently.

When Cauthrien stepped away Teagan added, "Please, if there’s anything I can provide, let me know.” He didn’t know if it was any comfort, or even if they were listening through their shock. He would send something anyway, once he was home and could determine what would be best, even when nothing seemed adequate.

"Thank you," the mother whispered again, but nothing more passed her lips.

Cauthrien looked between them, and then, with a murmured, "Maker keep you," she turned and left the house.

It was clear that Edlyn’s parents needed their own time. They turned into each other’s arms, with heads bowed. Teagan bowed his own head both in reverence and to better watch his steps, and quietly retreated, following after Cauthrien. Nothing they could have said made it better. Edlyn wasn't waiting outside the door, in the garden or in the field. Nothing spoken could make up for that. He assumed there would be questions later, when they had time to let the news settle. They would ask after her, wanting details, reasons. When that happened, he hoped he would be better prepared to offer some measure of peace.

With slow steps, he came close to Cauthrien and slipped his good arm beneath hers, not reaching for her hand, but just to keep her close.

"Home now?” he asked.

She glanced to the keep on the horizon, then shook her head. "No. Édouard. I... owe the man an apology. If you can make it, that is," she added, with a glance back to him.

He nodded though it was hard to hide his fatigue. "I will make it, if it’s something you need to do,” he said, though it was far from a sure thing. They’d gone far, but he would go a little further for her.

His lips quirked, hinting at a smile. "... And if you promise that it’s home just after.”

She nodded. "Home just after. And I'll defend you from Raud and his paperwork and get you to bed. I might even bring up dinner from the kitchens for you." Her own smile was just as faint in return, and she took his hand, leading him over to Calenhad. She helped him mount up, then settled herself behind him. Taking the moment to press a kiss to his jaw, just by his ear, she nudged her steed onto the road towards town.

The ride seemed shorter than every time they had made it before, and Cauthrien spent it largely rubbing comforting circles on Teagan's hip. She rode as quickly as she could without stressing his injury more, and they were soon trotting into the center of Rainsfere, taking the street that passed by Oswin's shop and coming to a halt a hundred feet or so from Édouard's door.

She slipped from Calenhad's back, and looked up to Teagan.

"Do you want to come down?"

"I should,” he mumbled as he stared down at her. He had nearly nodded off, might have if he hadn’t been injured or the ride had been longer. The idea of sleep and food and Cauthrien were all compelling enough to make him eager for home.

With a deep breath to try and stir himself better awake, he leaned back so she could help him down. "... If only to keep from falling asleep up here and having Calenhad run away with me.”

"He can be sneaky like that," she agreed, bracing him in her arms and helping him to solid earth. "I certainly wouldn't trust him." She glanced to Édouard's door. "Will you be coming with me, or...?"

"Only if you want me to.” He swallowed, blinked, and tried to give her a steady look even as the ground under his feet felt a little less than solid. This was something she felt she needed to do, and he wasn’t going to press his way inside if she didn’t want him there. His own rapport with Édouard was tenuous at best after their last conversation and the continuation of the guard around his door until Owen had returned home. The man might be just as likely to turn away at his presence as he would at Cauthrien's. Teagan only hoped Édouard would understand.

Cauthrien pulled him back to her, and he couldn't in that moment imagine Édouard thinking ill of her, not with how the corners of her mouth curled, the muscles around her jaw and eyes softened. "I can do this alone," she murmured. "But he will have chairs. Come on." She led him forward, offering her arm when he took a step without faltering. "I won't have you slumped against a building out here, or falling asleep on your feet."

"You say that- like it might happen.” He chuckled softly and reached for her, knowing full well that if she did leave him alone, he likely _would_ lean against the house and fall asleep.

And then what would the people of Rainesfere say of him?

She guided him for only as long as it took to get him moving, and for her to quickly hitch Calenhad to a nearby post. She let go before they reached Édouard's door, before she knocked.

There was a long moment where nothing happened. The door didn’t open, and there was no noise from the other side. Teagan leaned against the wall to rest and to listen, and when finally there was a noise from the other side, he nodded at Cauthrien.

"Sounds like he’s coming,” he whispered and gathered himself back up.

There was a shuffling sound at the door and then Édouard pulled the door open. The Orlesian sighed, looking between Teagan and Cauthrien.

"Bann Teagan,” he said, then frowned. "Ser Cauthrien.”

"Édouard," she said. " _I have come to offer my apologies for my- treatment of you during the investigation_." For a moment her easy slip into Orlesian made Teagan frown as he fought to catch up, but it made sense. It was appropriate. It was polite. There was no disgust in her eyes as she spoke the words, no clipping of syllables or any other sign of her dislike for it.

Édouard seemed to see it as well, the change in her from the last time they had spoken, and the tension in his shoulders eased somewhat. " _Oh_?” The older man stroked his beard, pressing at the corners of his mouth with his thumb and forefinger. " _You sound as though it has concluded. Have you found her? Is the little flower safe_?”

"... _We_ -" Cauthrien faltered. She glanced to Teagan; when he gave only a nod in support, she took a deep breath and looked back to the other man. " _We were too late_."

Édouard’s hand went to his eyes, closing them. But his other hand opened the door wide, and he leaned his arm against the door and turned away from them. He remained quiet for a moment, and then in a low voice asked over his shoulder, " _Would you like to come inside?_ ”

Cauthrien worried at her lip, and Teagan could see her thinking, searching for words that didn't come easily to her. Finally, she said, " _If this conversation will do any good, then yes. I am at your disposal_."

Édouard rolled his shoulder and let his hand fall away from the door, taking a few steps further into the house. It was a silent assent, an invitation.

Teagan lifted a hand to Cauthrien’s back, giving her a slight push though the door and a small nod of encouragement. It would be good for her to talk further, even if it was uncomfortable.

"Go on,” he whispered and took his own steps forward behind her.

Cauthrien looked back at him with a grim smile - her duty smile - and followed after Édouard. " _She ran away with Oswin's boy_ ," she said.

" _I heard as much_.” Édouard shook his head. " _A good boy. He was always good to her_.”

Her shoulders rose with her steadying breath. " _They met with bandits on the road. We tracked them down, but it was- too late._ " Her voice remained composed and solemn as it had been at Edlyn's farm, but he could see the strain of talking it out again creasing her brow. His own weariness grew heavier at her words.

Édouard walked to the small table in his kitchen and dropped down into a chair. " _She_ \- " He looked at Cauthrien hopefully, almost daring.

Cauthrien only shook her head. " _We were too late. We released her soul to the Maker last evening. I…_

" _I am sorry_."

Édouard's head bowed and he nodded as he looked down to his hands on the table. " _Maker_ -” he whispered. He was quiet again for a long time after, though his lips still moved in some soundless prayer. When he looked up his eyes were red and he inhaled deeply.

Cauthrien met his gaze even when Teagan looked away. " _I am sorry- for having questioned your involvement, and for as long as I did. I just_ -" She hesitated, the barest tremor in her voice. "... _I just wanted to bring her home safe. I thought I knew how_."

Teagan wanted to reach for Cauthrien’s hand, wanted to lead her out. But he did neither even though the tone in her voice concerned him. He watched her carefully.

Édouard took a long breath. His face had gone pale, his eyes distant, and his voice rang hollow as he whispered, " _I- I thank you_.”

She didn't respond at first, and when she did, it was with a nod and, " _Is there anything I can do?_ "

" _Could_ -" He swallowed. " _Could I have her practices back? The pages I sent_?” Édouard sighed. " _I know it must seem frivolous, but it’s what I have_.”

A month ago, Cauthrien would have questioned his motives. Now, she only nodded. With a glance to Teagan, she said, " _I see no reason you can't_."

So much had changed. Teagan nodded. "… _I’ll have someone bring the pages as soon as we return to the estate_.”

" _Thank you_ ,” Édouard said and gave her a small nod. With that, he stood up from the table. " _Thank you_.”

She nodded, almost a bow. " _Maker keep you, Édouard_ ," she said, and then with another nod, she turned to the door.

" _And you, Ser Cauthrien_.”

Teagan nodded to Édouard. " _Thank you, Édouard_ ," he said, offering a smile, an open palm. " _Please let me know if there’s anything else we can do_.”

" _I will. Thank you, Bann Teagan_.” The man escorted them both to the front door, leaning his hand on the handle, his shoulders bowed and head hung low.

Cauthrien stepped out into the street, shoulders sagging as soon as she was outside. Teagan shuffled out of the house behind her, with a wave to Édouard before the man closed the door behind them both. He reached for Cauthrien’s hand as soon as he was able, both for comfort and for balance.

He cracked a smile, a bare mask of his exhaustion. "Now?”

"Home," she said as she brought him back to Calenhad, giving him her shoulder to lean on. "Sleep, food, and wine."

And living the two days they had left together.

He let out a soft groan, something like relief flooding through him, and for a moment he stood a little straighter. His smile brightened a little more. And then he looked at her with those same tired eyes, and he felt certain that in that moment, he needed nothing more than sleep and Cauthrien at his side.

"Good,” he whispered. "I’m very ready for that.”

"As am I."

She helped him up onto Calenhad, then unhitched the lead and swung up behind him. The ride back was filled with little moments, as she pulled him against her more than she needed to, and left kisses behind his ear. He could feel her smile on his skin and he settled against her as they rode for the keep.

For home.

  
**\--**   


Two days passed too quickly. They were spent in his bed, in his arms, at his table - as close to him as she could stay while the world continued around them. They sent out the writing samples to Édouard, they met again with Edlyn's parents. They ate and slept and lived as best they could.

But it was only two days.

He had made it a point even before they had ridden out in search of Edlyn to keep her in bed as long as possible, to stretch out alongside her in the warmth and comfort of his bed and win her with kisses. The rhythm of work had made her want to resist then. She had argued that she would waste to nothing if he kept her cocooned, and he had countered by dragging his fingers along the curve of her hip and chuckling and saying there was more to her than muscle. _Just a few days a week_ , he'd promised.

Those two days, though, they stayed in bed until they could no longer, breathing the same air and memorizing the rise and fall of each other's bodies, each scar, each fresh wound, each birth mark and story.

She stayed by him every moment of every day that she could manage.

And she stayed by him now while one of the stablehands saddled and prepared Calenhad, because she didn't want to do it herself and lose that last gasp of time. She rested her head against his neck, his shoulder, as he wound his arms around her. They had no heavy blankets to ward off the outside world with, but she had him, at least, for a shield.

He held on to her, curling a hand around the back of her neck, fingers sliding up in to her hair. His other hand moved in soft strokes, offering comfort. Her eyes were half closed, and she couldn't find words to return his offering with. The ache that had lodged in her chest was almost too much to bear, in its strength and its unfamiliarity.

This was no parting from her lord. It was something other.

"I have still had no word from the Queen," she murmured. "I might still be able to return."

"Let us pray that might hold true,” he said as he dipped his head and pressed his cheek against hers. "I would like nothing more.”

She nodded. "And I-"

When she'd ridden to Rainesfere, she had wanted a fight. She had wanted rejection. She had wanted him to play out every pain of hers she still felt in the wake of the Blight. It would have been easy to leave, then. But here, now, there were moments where sentiment nearly outweighed duty.

She wanted to promise him she would return, or that she wouldn't leave in the first place.

Cauthrien took a deep breath. "If I could stay," she said, "I would."

His grip on her tightened. "I wish..." he breathed, and then paused in search of words.

She had grown so close to him over the last month that she could imagine what he would say, how he would say it, the tone of his voice, the furrowing of his brow. She didn't let him. Instead, she turned her head enough to kiss him, then press her forehead to his.

"Thank you," she murmured.

His mouth still hung open, as if he would yet speak. But when the words didn't come, when she stole them from him, he rested his forehead against hers and tightened his arms around her and just- breathed.

Cauthrien breathed with him. If they had nothing else, they had that moment.

She cupped the side of his face, thumb stroking over his braid, fingers trailing through his hair and around the shell of his ear. She knew every inch of him. She would have to content herself with that.

"This month-" she tried, then faltered, then laughed, a helpless thing. "I would not have had it any other way."

"Well-” he laughed with her, and for a moment couldn't stop, his breath shuddering and catching. Finally, he murmured, "Nor I.”

Even with the fear, the pain, the loss - the failures - it had led to them standing in the stables. She refused to wish for anything beyond.

There was a soft sound, boots on hay, and she knew it was the stablehand come to tell her that Calenhad was ready. She didn't turn. She caught Teagan's gaze and offered him a small smile, then kissed him again.

To think that just that morning might be the last time she ever woke up beside him-

She didn't think about that.

His arms tightened still more, making it almost hard to breathe as he returned her kiss, slow and languid and gentle enough to make her heart ache. When he pulled away, it wasn't far, and he didn't look away. "How long will it take you?” he asked as though they hadn’t already had this conversation, as though he didn’t already know the answer.

"Two weeks' ride to Denerim. I'll write you when I arrive, and as soon as I know what the Queen will have of me next. At least a month before you hear from me." And if she remained in Denerim, at least a month between his letters.

But he nodded all the same, his smile widening. "I’m eager for news already,” he said, following it with a light kiss, as if it were nothing, as if it were good. She held on to his good humor, even if he used it now as a mask.

"I'll compose it on the road, maybe, so I can send it the moment I pass the city gates," she said, smile turning to a grin for just a moment. "Though if I do that, my spelling's going to be disappointing."

He reached up to grab her hand, sliding his fingers between hers and squeezing tight. "I'm no stranger to disappointment," he said, and a laugh cracked from her throat at the thought of Bann Disappointment. He smiled. "But I have something for that, actually.” He nodded towards Calenhad and then exchanged a look with the stablehand. "Check your bag," he said, and stepped aside even as he kept their fingers entwined.

She looked between Teagan, the stablehand, and her horse, questioning and a little amused, and then she made her way over, not letting go for even a moment. She reached for the saddlebag and undid the catch.

Carefully, she pulled out a large book - heavy, leather-bound, and familiar.

 _The History of Rainesfere._

"Oh," she said, and then she looked to him with a lopsided smile. "Yes, I think this will help."

He stepped closer so he could tap a finger against the book’s cover. With a half-shrug and a grin, he said, "There’s a note inside too.”

She glanced up at him again, then opened the cover. She couldn't help her laugh, or her blush, and she traced his handwriting with her thumb.

 _So that you always remember our spelling lessons_.

"I don't think I would have ever forgotten," she said when she looked back up to him. "But the reminder is..." When words didn't come, she shook her head and laughed again.

"You don’t have to forget, to need the reminder,” he said and laid his other hand over hers. She laughed and felt heat rest in her cheeks, bloom between his hands. He pressed on without hesitation, dropping his voice to murmur, "I wish I had something better to give.” He looked up at her, more solemn than before.

The bubbling, sharp and frightened laughter in her stilled at last. She shook her head. "No. This is perfect. This and- this whole month. You've given me more than enough."

She only wished she could give something in return.

With another fond glance at the note, she closed the book and packed it away again. The bag cinched, she stroked Calenhad's flank a moment, then turned to Teagan once more.

He was watching her. "I- You’ve given me... so much,” he whispered, and wrapped his free arm back around her, leaning in to kiss her.

She kissed him back with something like a sob, something broken and shuddering though it made no sound. Her shoulders didn't bow, her breath did not sigh out of her, but she felt the pain all the same, cutting through the last shreds of lightness.

To give this all up-

But finally she stepped back. He tried to keep her close, to pull her back to him, to draw out her kisses as long as he could, and it took all of her will not to go to him. She took a deep breath and pulled her hand from his.

"Until we meet again, then," she murmured.

His gaze dropped to the ground, and he drew in a long, unsteady breath to match hers.

" _Maker_ -” he whispered and bit at his lip. "Maker watch over you, Cauthrien.”

"And may He keep you safe," she returned, before swinging herself up into her saddle.

She would ride hard; the further she was from Rainsfere by nightfall, and the more tired Calenhad was, the smaller the chance would be that she would simply turn around. From atop her mount, she gave him a last, small smile.

She thought for a moment to say, _Catch me_. Or _Follow_. Or any other words that would make him ride out after her, face down her duty, and bring her back. Her hand curled over her stomach and she thought, too, to maybe tell him about the passage of weeks- but no. There was nothing to tell. There was no truth to it, only fear. This wasn't the time for it - for words, or worries, or possibilities.

They had to part. There was simply nothing else to it.

So instead, all she said was, "Goodbye, Teagan."

And then she spurred Calenhad out of the stable and away from Rainesfere's keep and its Bann.

  
**\--**   


For two days, Teagan did little other than work and think about how easy it would be to take a horse from the stables when Raud wasn’t watching him and ride after her. He thought about it often enough that he could estimate where she was- what village she might have stopped near- how long it might take him to catch up.

But Raud kept a close eye on him, handing him more things that needed his attention than Teagan thought was strictly necessary. Some part of him recognized this as a kindness, even as the most recent batch of papers was set on his desk. It was a distraction, a needed one, and an anchor to keep him where he had to be. Raud hovered nearby, and Teagan nodded to him, murmured a thank you.

Raud didn't step away. Instead, he cleared his throat and extended his hand, a rolled parchment between his fingers.

"Message, my lord, from-” he turned the parchment to show a seal- "the Queen.”

Teagan was more alert in that moment than he had been in the two days since her departure. He reached for the letter, snatching it greedily from Raud’s fingers. He broke the seal with no hesitation and spread the letter out on his desk.

 _23 August, 9:31 Dragon  
Bann Teagan Guerrin,_

 _May the Maker allow this letter to find you well._

 _I have received a most interesting report from Ser Cauthrien. She claims that you and she have begun an intimate relationship. This was not my intent in sending her to you, although, if what she says is true, my estimation of your character suggests that you must not be in a relationship with the Warden-Commander Cousland._

 _You will of course understand that this dalliance with Ser Cauthrien does cast a poor light on her reports of your trustworthiness and loyalty. I am sure she has told you of her purpose in Rainesfere, and so I will be frank with you: you hold a position of great influence, and while I thank you for your support at the Landsmeet, I believe it is prudent to be wary of your continued association with the Warden-Commander and your actions outside of this country._

 _To that end, I have sent men to aid your own efforts. Their orders are to find and bring Alistair back to Ferelden, where I might keep an eye on him and where you may be assured as to his safety. While I must doubt Ser Cauthrien's accuracy and insight, I do not question her report that you are most focused on Alistair's well-being. I have other sources that confirm as much._

 _May the Maker watch over you,_

 _Anora Mac Tir,  
Queen and Teyrn of Ferelden_

 _Postscript: Ser Cauthrien will not be returning to Rainesfere for the foreseeable future; I have much need of her here in Denerim._

He started to roll the parchment back up, but the sting of Anora’s last sentence had him tossing it across the desk before he finished. He watched as Raud stepped around the desk, reaching down after the letter.

"Don’t. Just- leave it there,” he said through clenched teeth as he reached for parchment of his own.

Teagan pushed aside the other pages and work on his desk, clearing space to write. He grabbed a quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote.

 _Dear Queen._

  
**The End**   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end - of this section of the story. But we're not quite done with them…


End file.
